THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 


Br  GAIL  HAMILTON, 


AUTI10K  OF 

"WOMAN'S  WORTH  AND  WORTHLESSNESS,"  "LITTLE  FOLK  LIFE,"  ETC. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 

1876. 


BY   GAIL   HAMILTON. 


Gail  Hamilton  exhibits  a  singular  intellectual  versatility,  nimbly  bounding  from  an  exuberant  and 
almost  rollicking  play  of  humor  to  the  most  serioui  and  impressive  appeals.  Her  gayety  at  timjs  is  a> 
frisky  and  droll  as  that  of  the  harlequin  of  the  comic  drama ;  while  in  the  graver,  but  perhaps  not  really 
more  earnest  passages  of  the  work,  the  language  often  rises  to  a  calm  eloquence  in  which  reason  is  too 
predominant  for  the  display  of  passion.— If.  Y.  Tribune. 


WOMAN'S  WORTH   AND  WORTHLESSNESS  :   the  Comple 
ment  to  "a  New  Atmosphere."     I2mo,  Cloth,  $i  50. 

LITTLE  FOLK  LIFE.    A  Book  for  Girls.     i6mo,  Cloth,  90  cents. 
TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON.     I2mo,  Cloth,  $i  50. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York, 

|3T~  HARPER  &  BROTHERS  will  send  either  of  the  above  -works  by  -mail,  postage 
frepaid,  to  any  fart  t>f  {fie  United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


PS 


PAGE 

J.  Ticelve  Miles  from  a  Lemon 7 

II.  Lemon-Drops 21 

III.  Hemlock  Poison 33 

IV.  The  Wonders  and  Wisdom  of  Carpentry 44 

V.  Science,  Pure  and  Practical 80 

VI.  American  Inventions 94 

VII.  The  Pleasures  of  Poverty 113 

VIII.  To  Tudiz  by  Railroad 124 

IX.  The  Higher  Laws  of  Railroads 135 

X.  Holidays 159 

XL  Conference  Wrong  Side  Out 185 

XII.  Country  Character 202 

XIII.  Autumn  Voices 229 

XIV.  On  Social  Formula,  and  Social  Freedom 240 

XV.  The  Fashions 268 

XVI.  Sleep  and  Sickness 2J50 

XVII.  Dinners ..  303 


11         33 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 


I. 

TWEL  VE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

WHEN  Sydney  Smith  declared  merrily  that  bis  living 
in  Yorkshire  was  so  far  out  of  the  way,  that  it  was  act 
ually  twelve  miles  from  a  lemon,  all  the  world  laughed.  * 
But  the  world  little  knows — the  great,  self-indulgent 
world,  that  dearly  loves  comfort  and  ease  and  pleasure, 
coolness  in  August  and  warmth  in  November — what  it 
is  to  live  twelve  miles  from  a  lemon.  A  lemon  means 
ice  and  a  market,  all  good  things  in  their  season,  and  all 
men  eager  to  wait  upon  you. 

You  have  been  staying  in  Lemon,  let  us  say,  for 
months,  preying  upon  your  betters.  You  have  become 
thoroughly  demoralized  by  the  delights  of  the  lilies, 
toiling  not,  nor  spinning,  and  taking  no  thought  for  the 
morrowjj  But  the  whirligig  of  time  has  brought  about 
its  revenges.  Your  betters,  finding  no  other  way  to  dis 
embarrass  themselves  of  you,  have  shut  up  their  city 
house  and  gone,  and  you  must  go  too,  and  take  thought 
for  the  morrow,  or  be  stranded  on  a  desert  island.  As 
you  are  borne  rapidly  homeward  you  try  to  return  once 
more  to  practical  life,  and  make  an  intense  mental  effort 


8  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEJfOX. 

to  concentrate  your  thoughts,  and  remember  what  you 
have  had  for  breakfast  the  last  four  months.  Presently 
you  chance  upon  a  cracker-peddler.  Crackers  make  a 
good  pedestal  for  your  wandering  gods  to  alight  on,  and 
you  buy  a  box. 

"  Do  you  go  as  far  as  The  Old  Elm  ?" 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  Leave  this  box  of  crackers,  then,  in  Leicester  Coun 
ty,  on  the  old  stage  road,  right-hand  side,  low  green 
house  in  a  hollow,  on  the  door-step.  Never  mind  if  the 
house  seems  closed.  Leave  them  all  the  same." 

You  resume  your  journey  with  a  light  heart.  To 
morrow  shall  take  thought  for  the  things  of  itself.  One 
need  never  starve  with  a  dozen  pounds  of  crackers  on 
the  door-step. 

Another  stage  of  roar  and  rush,  and  dust  and  cinders, 
and  the  train  leaves  you  at  your  own  station.  Unexpect 
ed,  you  are  una waited.  Importunate  hackmen  know 
on  which  side  their  bread  is  buttered,  and  never  stroll 
twelve  miles  from  a  lemon  ;  so  you  leave  your  luggage, 
and  walk,  not  reluctant,  along  the  lovely  path  that  was 
never  so  lovely  as  now — a  deep,  hard,  straggling  foot 
path,  half  hidden  in  the  rank  grass,  green  and  dense 
under  the  gnarled  old  apple-trees.  The  slant  sun.  the 
ruddy  sky,  the  bright,  still,  rich  earth,  alive  with  color, 
abloom  with  light,  all  the  broad  fields  laughing  with 
ripening  harvests,  all  the  birds  mad  with  joy,  and  no 
war  nor  battle  sound  in  all  our  borders — oh,  the  beau 
tiful,  beloved  country ! 

But  the  pump  will  not  go.  Certainly  not.  A  re 
fractory  and  unprincipled  pump  from  the  beginning; 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON.  g 

and  before  I  have  shaken  from  my  feet  the  dust  of 
travel  I  must  arise  and  depart  again,  for  twelve  miles 
from  a  lemon  means  fifteen  miles  from  a  plumber. 

No  more  will  the  lamps  burn.  In  one  the  wick  re 
fuses  to  budge  a  hair-breadth  up  or  down.  In  the  oth 
er  it  will  go  down,  but  not  up.  Of  a  third  the  chim 
ney  is  broken.  A  fourth  has  lost  the  cement  between 
globe  and  pedestal,  and  cants  alarmingly.  A  fifth  drops 
the  wick,  flame  and  all,  down  into  the  oil,  as  soon  as  it 
is  lighted,  and  scares  us  out  of  our  wits.  There  is  one 
evening  of  a  stray  candle  or  two,  and  a  horror  of  great 
darkness,  and  then  another  journey  for  a  fresh  supply. 
For  ten  miles  from  a  lemon  is  twenty  miles  from  a  lamp. 

The  crackers  come  to  time,  the  bread  rises  braveW, 
but  my  soul  longeth  for  meat.  This  township  swarms 
with  butchers.  "Malone,  we  will  have  some  chickens. 
No,  a  tenderloin  steak.  Put  out  the  sign."  The  sign 
is  a  crimson  scarf  tied  around  a  post.  "I  put  it  out 
this  morning,"  says  Malone,  "and  he  did  not  stop." 
':  Put  it  out  again  to-nrorrow  morning,  and  we  will  keep 
watch  besides."  I  wake  early,  gnawed  by  many  cares. 
I  wonder  if  the  bread  has  risen.  Will  Malone  over 
sleep,  and  forget  it,  past  the  proper  point.  If  that  were 
off  my  mind  I  think  I  could  go  to  sleep  again.  I  creep 
softly  down  stairs  and  strike  a  bee-line  for  the  bread- 
pan,  and  Malone,  who  has  also  crept  softly  down  her 
stairs  for  the  same  purpose,  utters  a  little  shriek.  I 
withdraw,  but  not  to  sleep.  We  must  have  eggs.  There 
is  nothing  to  be  done  in  the  way  of  housekeeping  with 
out  eggs.  Perhaps  Malone  can  get  some  at  the  milk 
man's.  I  will  hear  her  when  she  goes  out,  and  tell  her. 

i* 


10  TWELVE  MILES  FKOX  A  LEMOX. 

No ;  I  will  tell  her  now,  and  then  it  will  be  off  my  mind, 
and  I  shall  go  to  sleep.  "  Malone,"  I  call  softly  down 
the  stairs,  "try  if  the  milkman  has  any  eggs;  and  if  he 
has,  boil  them  for  breakfast,  and  make  a  custard  for 
dinner." 

It  is  an  hour  before  butcher-time,  and  I  shall  have  a 
cozy  nap.  If  I  had  only  thought  to  buy  some  oat-meal 
in  the  lemon.  Twelve  miles  away  we  get  no  nearer  to 
it  than  oats.  There  is  a  rumble  of  wheels.  It  can  not 
be  the  butcher.  If  it  should  be,  and  we  lose  our  dinner 
to-day  as  we  did  yesterday  t  I  may  as  well  jump  up 
and  look,  as  thoroughly  awake  myself  by  fretting  about 
it.  It  is  not  the  butcher;  but  oh !  it  is  the  good-butter 
man ;  and  I  must  stop  him,  at  all  costs;  and  Malone  is 
gone  for  the  milk;  and  oh!  where  is  a  wrapper?  and 
what  has  become  of  my  slippers?  lie  is  stone-deaf. 
Would  he  were  also  stone-blind !  Here  is  a  water-proof 
cloak.  Will  he  think  they  wear  water-proof  morning 
dresses  in  lemons?  Oh,  joy!  there  is  Malone  coming. 
Thank  Heaven,  she  is  not  deaf.  "  Malone !"  with  a  deaf 
ening  shriek,  if  any  one  could  hear  it ;  but  the  advan 
tage  of  being  twelve  miles  from  a  lemon  is  that  you  can 
do  your  marketing  from  the  chamber  windows  and  no 
body  the  wiser — "  Malone !  stop  the  butter-man,  and 
engage  butter  for  the  season."  Malone  rushes  up  to 
him  like  a  freebooter,  and  I  am  happy. 

Only  casting  about  in  my  mind  whether  Malone  put 
the  cucumber  in  water — the  cucumber  which  grew  in 
Quincy  Market,  and  which  I  had  just  room  for  in  my 
lamp-journey — to  be  roused  by  her  voice  again.  "  What 
is  it,  Malone?" 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON.  H 

"  The  milkman  hadn't  any  eggs."  Of  course  he  had 
not.  Hens  do  not  lay  eggs  in  the  country.  Eggs  are 
laid  in  lemons,  and  you  must  go  twelve  miles  to  get 
them. 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Meiggs  has  some." 

"No.    I  went  there  Monday  and  got  ten — all  he  had." 

"  Suppose  you  try  the  Briarses." 

"  I  was  there  yesterday,  and  they  only  had  a  few  that 
had  been  sot  on." 

"Very  well.  I  am  going  to  bed,  Mulone.  Do  the 
best  you  can  without  them." 

I  have  not  begun  to  doze.  I  do  not  expect  so  much 
as  that — only  a  little  quiet,  preparatory  to  the  day's 
campaign  ;  but  there  is  a  rattle  of  wheels  in  the  dis 
tance.  It  is  earl}'-,  but  it  sounds  like  the  butcher's  cart. 
It  is  the  butcher's  cart.  Intrenched  again  in  the  water 
proof,  I  fling  up  the  sash  ready  to  pounce  upon  him. 
"Butcher!"  trying  to  soften  a  yell  into  a  decorous  call. 

He  turns  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left. 
This  will  never  do.  Courage. 

"Butcher!" 

He  gives  no  sign.  He  is  going  by.  I  am  desperate. 
I  fling  decorum  to  the  winds. 

"Butch-E-R-R-R!" 

He  does  not  hear  the  word,  but  the  prolonged  shriek 
pierces  his  ear.  He  stops.  The  household  is  aroused, 
and  not  exactly  comprehending  the  situation,  but 
each  feeling  a  responsibility  for  the  dinner,  Babel  en 
sues. 

"Have  you  any  tenderloin?"  I  cry. 

Malone  does  not  hear  me  from  her  wash-tub  below, 


12  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

but  she  sees  the  butcher,  and,  feeling  the  whole  care  on 
her  own  shoulders;  cries,  in  a  voice  to  wake  the  dead, 

"We  want  some — tenderloin!" 

Simultaneously,  Spitzbergen  flings  up  another  win 
dow,  and  entirely  on  her  own  account,  calls  vociferous 
ly  for  a  "steak  of  tenderloin!"  And  even  Tranquilla 
feels  the  necessity  of  action,  and  from  the  depths  of  the 
bed-clothes  sends  forth  a  muffled  shriek  for  "  tenderloin!" 
Thus  suddenly,  out  of  profound  silence,  the  house  re 
sounds  from  turret  to  foundation-stone  with  the  clangor 
of  tenderloin,  and  the  bewildered  butcher  stares  blankly 
and  can  make  out  nothing  for  the  hullaballoo.  There 
is  a  short  pause  of  exhaustion  and  experiment.  I  infer 
that  the  others  have  become,  somehow,  aware  of  the 
posture  of  affairs,  and,  taking  advantage  of  the  lull,  be 
gin  to  put  my  inquiry  in  a  decent  and  Christian  man 
ner—to  find  that  they  have  all  arrived  at  the  same  con 
clusion,  and  are  piping  forth  again  a  chaos  of  tender 
loin  ;  but  Malone  holds  the  key  of  the  situation,  march 
es  to  the  front,  extricates  both  butcher  and  tenderloin, 
and  comes  back  brandishing  her  beefsteak  triumphant. 
Whereupon  the  house  subsides  into  its  normal  silence. 

City  folk  undoubtedly  believe  that  early  vegetables 
spring  from  the  soil,  but  we  country  dwellers  know 
better.  We  look  abroad  upon  the  earth,  and  see  the 
wide  stretch  of  field  and  sky,  and  the  ever-shifting  pan 
orama  of  the  clouds,  and  the  stately  pomp  of  the  sun 
on  his  daily  march,  and  know  perfectly  well  that  it  was 
all  made  to  look  at,  and  a  good  enough  end  is  that. 
But  when  we  want  any  thing  to  eat,  we  take  a  basket 
and  go  by  rail  twelve  miles  to  the  lemon.  And  it  is 


TWEL  YE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX.  13 

not  convenient.  The  country  is  perfect,  if  man  could 
live  by  bread  and  meat  alone,  but  be  can  not.  He 
wants  butter  also,  and  fresh  eggs,  and  early  pease,  and 
beets,  and,  lettuce,  and  above  all,  ice — the  art  preserva 
tive  of  all  arts. 

If  you  lived  in  Calcutta  you  could  have  ice  in  galore. 
All  the  ships  that  go  sailing  over  the  sea  would  fetch 
you  ice,  and  the  carts  would  cart  it  to  your  door,  and 
the  vendor  would  clench,  it  into  your  cellar,  and  you 
would  be  cool  even  under  the  India  sun  of  an  India 
summer  through  the  well-kept  cold  of  an  American 
winter.  But  if  you  lived  on  the  shores  of  the  Polar 
Sea  you  might  whistle  for  ice.  Trade,  unlike  charity, 
does  not  begin  at  home.  If  you  will  buy  by  the  ship 
load  you  shall  be  served,  but  there  is  no  lens  strong- 
enough  to  make  the  ice-king  see  your  one  little  refrig 
erator.  "  We  only  deal  by  wholesale,"  says  my  lord. 
And  when  you  resort  to  some  small  German  principal 
ity  in  the  ice  realm,  whose  traffic  must  perforce  be  retail, 
the  man  inquires  your  whereabouts  and  measures  your 
distances,  and  is  afraid  it  is  too  far  off  for  him  to  get 
home  in  season  to  load,  and  perhaps  his  employer  will 
not  permit  it,  but  he  will  see.  So  he  sees  and  comes, 
and  we  are  all  servant  of  servants  unto  this  brother  of 
ours  that  he  be  not  hindered.  "  Malone,  there  is  the 
ice-man!  Run  quick  and  open  the  cellar  doors!  Spitz- 
bergen,  fetch  a  bucket  of  water  to  rinse  the  ice !  Tran- 
quilla,  is  there  a  blueberry  pie  extant?  Bring  a  knife 
and  fork  quick,  and  a  plate."  And  we  strive  to  melt 
his  icy  sympathy  with  smiles  and  bland  words  and 
toothsome  repast,  that  he  may  cut  and  come  again, 


14  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

•which  he  does  "unbeknownst"  (as  the  good  President 
used  to  say)  to  his  employer ;  and  we  harden  our  hearts 
and  sear  our  consciences;  and  serve  up  a  triangle  of 
blueberry  pie  every  other  day,  and  say  that  his  relations 
between  himself  and  his  employer  are  no  affair  of  ours. 
Every  man  has  his  price.  Let  every  housekeeper  have 
her  ice.  Heaven  forbid  that  a  morsel  of  pie  or  cake  or 
custard  should  stand  between  us  and  comfort — not  to 
say  health  and  economy. 

Till  another  king  arises  who  knows  not  Joseph,  and 
will  not  even  come  within  the  sphere  of  our  blandish 
ments.  For  you  can  not  bribe  a  man  in  open  day  on 
the  king's  highway,  saying  unto  him,  "Smuggle  a  lump 
of  ice  into  my  refrigerator  three  times  a  week,  and  I 
will  not  only  pay  your  master  full  price,  but  will  give 
you  a  lunch  besides."  So  your  fountain  of  ice  fails, 
and  you  must  henceforth  live  from  hand  to  mouth. 

That  is  the  difference  between  living  in  a  lemon  and 
living  twelve  miles  away  from  it.  In  the  first  case  you 
are  besought  to  buy.  In  the  second  you  beseech  others 
to  sell. 

"Why  do  you  not  raise  things  for  yourself,  and  be 
independent  of  butchers  and  bakers  and  butter-makers?" 
asks  the  astute  and  inexperienced  Lemonitc. 

"  Raise  things  !     What,  for  instance  ?" 

"Eggs,  then,  to  begin  with." 

Because  eggs  are  no  sooner  hatched  than  all  the  forces 
of  nature  rise  up  together  to  destroy  them.  Hatched, 
do  I  say  ?  Before  they  are  hatched  the  foe  comes. 
While  they  are  yet  eggs  the  cats  smell  them  out  and 
suck  them.  When  thev  have  broken  shell  and  become 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON.  15 

chickens,  the  first  thing  they  do  is  to  get  lost  If  there 
is  a  bit  of  late  snow  it  shall  go  hard  but  they  will  roam 
around  till  they  find  it,  and  then  they  will  stand  still 
on  it  and  shiver  and  die.  If  there  is  one  grass-plot 
deeper  and  thicker  and  wetter  than  another,  they  will 
make  a  rush  for  that  —  anywhere  so  they  can  shiver 
and  die.  Then  the  hawks  come  down  from  the  sky, 
and  the  skunks  come  up  from  the  swamps,  and  the 
weasels  come  out  of  the  woods,  and  the  minks  and  the 
foxes  and  the  wroodchucks  from  their  holes  among  the 
rocks,  and  make  a  dead  set  at  the  chickens.  In  vain 
the  mother  hen  clucks  alarm  and  hate.  A  hawk  swoops 
down  into  your  very  door-yard  and  bears  away  a  strug 
gling  chick  in  his  talons.  Now  that  the  horse  is  stolen 
we  will  lock  the  stable-door.  "  Tranquilla,  take  }-our 
book  into  the  piazza  and  keep  wratch."  "A  hawk!  a 
hawk!"  cries  Tranquilla  presently,  in  wild  excitement, 
and  we  rush  to  the  door  with  immense  hootings  and 
howlings,  but  no  hawk  is  visible.  The  happy  hen  is 
peacefully  brooding  her  young  and  gives  no  sign.  "  It 
must  have  been  a  mistake,"  you  say,  quite  out  of  breath. 
"  No,  it  was  no  mistake,"  exclaims  Tranquilla.  "  It  was 
a  hawk ;  I  saw  him  plainly;  and  he  went  'caw !  caw !' " 
"  Oh !  Tranquilla,  go  into  the  house."  Foolishness  is 
bound  up  in  the  heart  of  the  Lemonite,  and  he  never 
will  know  a  hawk  from  a  crow,  though  he  see  it  twelve 
miles  off!  Now  a  thunder-cloud  gathers.  The  forked 
lightnings  flash  red  and  angry.  The  thunder  growls. 
The  rain  comes  fast  and  furious.  Of  course  the  chjck- 
ens  are  off  in  the  far  pastures  gobbling  grasshoppers. 
There  they  come  scampering  home,  terrified,  in  hot 


16  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LE110X. 

liastc.  Their  wet  feathers  are  tucked  away  from  their 
little  sticks  of  leg?,  which  look  twice  as  long  and  twice 
as  slender  as  they  beat  home,  frantic.  And  trotting 
placidly  among  them  come  four  little  skunks,  hand  i<j- 
nota  loquor.  Is  this  tempest,  then,  the  beginning  of  the 
end  of  the  world,  and  does  that  quiet  quartette  presage 
the  millennium  —  the  lion  and  the  lamb,  the  chicken 
and  the  skunk,  lying  down  together?  Alas!  no,  un 
less —  as  some  one  says  —  the  one  be  inside  the  other. 
When  the  storm  is  over  the  skunks  will  grow  up  and 
devour  the  neighbors'  chickens — not  mine,  for  to-mor 
row  morning  I  shall  go  out  to  find  my  chickens  dead, 
one  and  all,  of  rats;  and  that  is  why  there  are  no  eggs 
twelve  miles  from  a  lemon. 

But  at  least  you  might  raise  vegetables,  which  fox  and 
weasel  do  not  devour,  nor  cats  and  rats  break  through 
and  steal. 

So  you  might,  only  labor  all  goes  to  Lemons,  and 
twelve  miles  away  seven  women  have  to  lay  hold  of 
one  man  to  get  a  beet-bed  hoed,  and  then  find  that,  in 
the  confusion  of  the  moment,  he  has  planted  beans  in 
stead  of  beets,  and  cabbages  instead  of  sweet-corn.  But 
there  are  early  potatoes.  Yes,  and  earlier  oxen  who 
tear  down  your  wall  and  leap  into  your  garden,  and  de 
vour  what  they  can  and  trample  what  they  can  not. 
You  drive  them  out  with  much  brandishing  of  bean 
poles  and  broomsticks — the  beautiful  patient-eyed  crea 
tures,  so  strong  and  meek — and  their  master  makes  a, 
thousand  apologies,  and  promises  that  they  shall  not 
trespass  again  ;  but  the  black  heifer  from  the  next  pas 
ture  does,  and  she  too  is  repulsed  in  force;  and  then 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEVOX.  17 

comes  a  wail  from  Tranquilla,  "Oh I  the  oxen  are  in 
again !"  and  off  you  go,  lance  in  rest,  to  find  the  tres 
passing  oxen  have  turned  into  neighbor  Nelly's  lovely 
Alderney  cow,  quietly  feeding  in  her  own  fields.  "  Tran 
quilla  !  Tranquilla!  will  you  never  have  done  discov 
ering  mares'  nests?  Is  not  the  way  hard  enough,  but 
you  must  make  mountains  of  mole-hills  ?"  But  in  two 
days  your  own  eyes  discern  a  horned  beast  thrusting 
in  among  your  vegetables,  and  your  blood  rises.  You 
will  see  whether  there  is  to  be  any  protection  to  life  or 
property  !  "  Who  is  the  field-driver?" 

Nobody  knows.  I  go  to  my  friend  the  Forester. 
"Who  is  the  field-driver?" 

"  What's  the  matter?     My  cow  got  into  your  lot?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  its  being  your  cow,  but  perhaps 
it  is.  It's  a  red  cow." 

"No,  'tain't  mine.     Mine  is  a  Jersey." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  Now  I  am  tired  of  driving  cows 
out  of  my  yard.  You  make  me  pay  taxes,  and  you 
won't  let  me  vote ;  and  the  least  you  can  do  is  to  keep 
the  cows  out  of  my  garden." 

"  That's  so.     Can't  say  nothin'  ngin  that." 

"Then  who  is  the  field-driver?" 

"  Well,  there  ain't  exactly  no  field-driver,  like.  You 
see  'tain't  no  great  of  an  office,  and  nobody  hain't  much 
hankering  after  it.  So  when  they  nominate  'em  at  town- 
meetin'  they  decline.  So  you  have  to  fasten  on  some 
body  that  ain't  there,  and  they  appinted  Stephen  Bar 
rows.  We  got  him  there!  But  Stephen,  you  see,. he 
ain't  took  the  oath,  an'  won't  take  it,  and  so  he  hain't 
no  responsibility;  so  we're  kind  of  satisfied  all  round!" 


18  TWELVE  MILES  FltOJf  A  LEXOX. 

"Beautiful  legislation!  How  complicate,  how  won 
derful,  is  man !  Meanwhile,  the  cow's  in  the  meadow, 
the  sheep's  in  the  corn,  and  isn't  there  any  way  to  get 
them  out  except  with  bean-poles?" 

"Well,  yes.  You  can  advertise  in  three  towns  that 
there  is  such  a  cow  trespassing,  and  when  the  owner 
gets  her  you  can  make  him  pay  her  board,  reckonin'  in 
damages." 

An  easy  way  to  turn  a  cow  out  of  your  garden !  But 
that  is  why  corn  will  not  grow  twelve  miles  from  a 
lemon. 

At  least  I  will  lift  up  my  voice  in  testimony.  Preach 
ing  never  comes  amiss.  "My  forester,"  I  say,  gently, 
taking  a  comfortable  seat  on  the  wood-pile,  "I  have  a 
great  regard  for  you—" 

"I'm  glad  any  body  has." 

"But  don't  you  occasionally  feel  ashamed  to  think 
you  are  a  man  ?"  He  rests  on  his  hand-saw,  but  with 
out  uncrooking  the  pregnant  hinges  of  his  knee,  and  an 
swers  with  a  broad,  bright  smile : 

"  Well,  now,  if  I'd  had  any  hand  in't  it  might  be 
worth  while." 

"Here  }*ou  make  all  the  laws — rising  up  early  and 
making  them — and  an  enterprising  cow  jumps  over 
them  before  breakfast." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  nothin'  perfect,  you  know.  You 
can't  make  a  law  so  strong  but  what  a  stray  critter'll 
break  it  now  and  then." 

"But  now  look  at  me,  and  remember  all  the  while, 
with  a  pang  at  the  heart,  that  you  are  a  man.  Here  is 
Barbara  Brooke  working  like  a  beaver  every  day  of  her 


MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX.  19 

life.  By  hard  labor,  early  find  late — np  in  tbe  morning 
nt  four,  and  in  bed  Heaven  knows  when — by  going 
without  butter  on  her  bread  or  sugar  in  her  tea,  she  has 
managed  to  get  together  money  enougR  to  buy  a  tiny 
house.  What  then  do  you  do,  you  men,  but  pounce 
upon  it?  You  don't  wait  for  her  to  move  into  it;  be 
fore  the  door-steps  are  laid  or  made  you  pounce  upon 
it,  and  demand  of  her  eighty  cents  taxes.  Now,  as 
a  man  and  a  gentleman,  don't  you  think  that  is 
mean  ?" 

" Lud-a-massy  I  Don't  come  down  on  met  I  didn't 
do  it.  I  ain't  selectman." 

"Yes,  you  are  selectman.  All  men  are  selectmen. 
They  select  themselves  out  to  make  the  laws,  and  that 
is  the  way  they  do  it." 

"  But  you  must  have  tax  laws,  and  you  can't  make 
no  choice  about  wbo  owns  tbe  property.  Law  is 
law." 

"But  the  law  to  tax  property  is  no  more  inexorable 
than  the  law  to  protect  property.  You  are  under  no 
stronger  moral  obligation  to  tax  Barbara's  house  than 
you  are  to  protect  my  garden.  But  you  manage  mat 
ters  so  that  a  whole  herd  of  cows  trampling  through  my 
grounds  are  invisible  to  you,  and  I  must  traverse  three 
towns  to  be  rid  of  them ;  but  the  moment  poor  Barbara 
has  a  roof  over  her  head  you  turn  all  eyes  to  see,  and 
all  hands  to  grasp.  Oh !  aren't  you  ashamed  ?" 

"Well,  it  don't  look  generous  like,  I  vum.  But 
't won't  be  no  great,  one  way  or  the  other." 

Eighty  cents,  and  that  is  the  meanest  of  all.  If  it 
were  eightv  dollars  it  would  be  worth  while.  The  best 


20  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

of  it  is  that  Barbara  vows  she  won't  pny  it.  Here  is 
"woman's  rights"  with  a  will. 

"And  indeed,"  says  Barbara,  "I  went  up  to  Eob 
Jones's  and  gave  him  such  a  jawin'  an'  scoldin'  as  he 
niver  had  in  his  life.  Pay  in'  taxes,  indeed!  I  tould 
him  whoever  came  in  for  'em  should  never  go  out  again ! 
I'd  have  the  tea-kettle  on  the  stove,  and  it's  scalding 
water  he  should  get  in  his  face  for  the  taxes!"  Arid 
honest  Barbara  rocks  back  and  forth,  and  makes  the 
heavens  ring  with  merriment  at  the  idea  of  any  puny 
man  coming  to  demand  her  rightful  money ;  and  Bar 
bara's  heart  is  strong  and  her  arm  is  brawny,  and  I 
think  the  man  who  troubles  her  is  very  likely  to  be  in 
hot  water. 

For  if  twelve  miles  from  a  lemon  is  twelve  miles 
from  the  law,  why  should  not  Barbara  be  a  law.  unto 
herself? 

My  friend  the  forester  thinks  she  will  be,  and  evi 
dently  his  heart  is  in  the  right  place. 


LEMON -DROPS.  21 


II. 
LEMON- DEOPS. 

IT  must  be  confessed  that  the  rigors  of  rustic  exile 
are  immensely  mitigated  by  the  friendly  incursions  of 
a  class  of — men,  I  was  about  to  say,  but  I  remember 
that  women  are  not  unknown  to  its  ranks — a  class  of 
persons  whose  benevolent  mission  is  to  furnish  us  out 
side  barbarians  with  the  appliances  of  civilization.  In 
the  vulgate  they  are  termed  peddlers.  I  call  them  mis 
sionaries.  Like  other  missionaries,  they  are  sometimes 
harshly  entreated.  There  are  those  who  look  upon 
them  as  direct  emissaries  of  the  Evil  One,  roaring  up  and 
down  the  earth,  seeking  whom  they  may  devour.  To 
these,  a  peddler  is  but  a  burglar  in  disguise.  He  comes 
with  goods  by  day  to  spy  out  the  land  and  see  where  he 
may  come  for  goods  by  night.  Nor  is  the  suspicion  en 
tirely  unfounded.  "  There's  odds  in  deacons/'  the  coun 
try  folk  say  ;  how  much  more  in  peddlers.  My  own  es 
pecial  prejudice  is  against  the  peddler  who  carries  a  lit 
tle  black  glazed  carpet-bag,  and  in  favor  of  him  who 
comes  in  a  large,  long,  high,  red  cart.  He  give  hostages 
to  society.  His  horse  and  cart  are  a  pledge  of  respecta 
bility  and  reliability.  His  cart  is  full  of  curious  and 
convenient  little  compartments,  and  in  these  compart 
ments  are  curiously  bestowed  all  manner  of  treasures  in 
Britannia  and  tin.  The  top  of  his  cart  is — not  crowd- 


22  TWELVE  MILES  FKOV  A  LEMOX. 

ed,  but — ornamented  with  wooden-ware,  rows  of  brooms, 
nests  of  bright  blue  tubs  and  bright  yellow  buckets,  and 
the  regular  ridges  of  white  wash-boards,  every  thing 
fresh  and  perfect  in  its  kind.  It  is  a  New  Curiosity- 
shop,  whose  salesman  is  never  ill-natured  and  never  in 
a  hurry,  but  always  ready  to  reveal  to  you  his  goods 
and  chattels,  whether  you  buy  or  whether  you  forbear. 
And  the  charm  of  it  is,  that  you  buy  without  money, 
lie  does  not  seem  to  care  for  money.  lie  rather  prefers 
"  truck"  He  takes  from  you  what  is  old  and  worn-out, 
and,  to  you,  worthless,  and  gives  you  a  brand-new  cof 
fee-pot!  Is  not  that  Christianity  ?  The  only  shabby- 
looking  things  about  his  establishment  are  the  great 
canvas  bag  and  the  tarnished  tin-kettle  that  hang  and 
swing  from  the  rear  of  his  cart  But  they,  like  all  the 
res],  of  him,  are  means  of  grace, 

"Any  tin-ware  to-day  ?"  he  asks  you,  cheerily  ;  and 
when  lie  has  turned  over  his  whole  stock  for  your  pleas 
uring,  and  has  explained  to  you  all  the  mysteries  of  his 
improvements  and  his  patents,  and  you  have  selected 
a  freezer  for  the  ice  that  you  can  not  get,  and  a  new 
fangled  egg-beater  for  the  eggs  that  no  hen  lays,  and  a 
lemon-grater  for  the  fruit  that  is  twelve  miles  off,  and 
begin  to  fumble  around  in  your  mind  for  the  where 
abouts  of  your  purse — then,  up  speaks  this  angel  and 
minister  of  grace,  this  missionary  of  the  new  dispensa 
tion,  and  asks: 

"Any  rags  or  pnper  to  dispose  of?" 

Of  course  you  have.  What  else  do  you  take  the 
Boston  Daily  for,  and  the  Conyregationalist,  and  the  New 
York  Nation,  and  the  Weekly  Post,  and  the  Woman's 


ROrS.  23 

Journal?  All  the  picture-papers  we  save  alive;  and 
from  the  ladies'  magazines  we  cut  the  gay-colored  prints, 
and  pile  them  in  great  piles  in  the  garret,  for  the  amuse 
ment  of  the  little  ones,  who  love  nothing  better  than 
foraging  in  these  unfrequented  places.  All  the  rest — 
newspapers,  magazines,  pamphlets,  learned  reports,  sta 
tistics,  catalogues,  Fourth  of  July  orations,  and — oh,  tell 
it  not  in  Gath ! — sermons;  all  the  torn  letters  and  used- 
up  envelopes  of  the  waste-basket  we  bring  forth  from 
their  hiding-places  in  barrel  and  box,  and  cast  into  that 
huge  tin-kettle,  and  sell  it  for  three,  five — yes,  and  when 
for  so  long  a  time  all  was  quiet  on  the  Potomac,  it  went 
as  high  as  seven  and  eight  cents  a  pound.  And  here 
is  the  bag  of  white  rags,  all  sorted — the  bag  is  a  little 
gnawed  by  mice,  so  you  may  take  it  bag  and  all,  and  if 
the  mouse  be  within,  let  him  stay  and  weigh ;  and  the 
bag  of  colored  rags — little  worth,  but  worth  that  little.  • 

"No  old  iron?" 

Certainly;  a  box  of  rusty  nails,  and  the  Franklin 
stove,  and  a  stove  door  that  is  well  wedged  into  the 
barn  floor — you  will  have  to  wrench  it  hard  to  get  it 
out,  my  peddler — and  a  cracked  tea-kettle,  and  an  iron 
tray,  and — I  suppose  this  old  bit  of  lead  is  not  good  for 
any  thing? 

"  Oh  yes ;  we  pay  five  cents  a  pound  for  lead !" 

Bless  me,  we  shall  make  our  fortunes!  There  is 
nothing  in  the  shape  of  metal  which  a  tin-peddler  will 
not  buy,  except  hoop-skirts,  and  a  hoop-skirt  seems  to 
be  the  one  thing  on  earth  for  which  there  is  no  second 
ary  use,  no  future  life,  except  in  Mr.  Edward  PJverett 
llule's  "Skeleton  in  the  Closet,"  where  sundry  superan- 


24  TWEL  VE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

nuated  hoop-skirts  prove  the  ruin  of  the  Confederate 
navy,  army,  ordnance,  and  treasury,  and,  ultimately,  the 
capture  of  Jefferson  Davis ;  but,  I  must  say,  I  strongly 
suspect,  notwithstanding  Mr.  Hale's  well-known  char 
acter  for  veracity,  that  those  hoop-skirts  were  manu 
factured  out  of  the  whole  cloth ! 

But  all  else  is  fish  that  comes  to  the  tin-peddler's 
net.  And  it  gives  you  such  a  comfortable  feeling.  It 
is  not  only  that  you  have  made  a  general  clearance  of 
rubbish,  but  you  are  in  the  line  of  Divine  Providence. 
You  are  working  in  the  Divine  way.  Nature  wastes 
nothing,  either  in  material  or  process.  Man  can  not  de 
stroy  material,  but  he  may  waste  work.  Your  rusty 
nails  are  not  only  useless,  but  unsightly,  and  black  with 
impending  lock-jaw.  In  the  tin-peddler's  hands  they 
are  on  the  road  to  a  new  life  of  usefulness.  The  paper 
which  you  cram  into  }-our  fire  and  fancy  out  of  the  way 
is  out  of  the  way.  It  will,  indeed,  presently  become 
paper  again,  but  it  is  by  the  roundabout  road  of  smoke 
and  ashes,  and  corn  and  cotton.  Whereas,  in  the  tin- 
peddler's  hands  it  is  next  door  to  pulp,  and  comes  back 
to  paper  by  a  short  cut.  You  are  Providence  in  so 
far  as  you  have  saved  Providence  several  intermediate 
stages,  which  is  the  same  thing  as  having  accomplished 
them  yourself.  To  all  of  which  the  tin-peddler  assents, 
though  in  a  dazed  way,  and  I  am  not  sure,  after  all,  that 
the  connection  between  himself  and  Providence  is  quite 
clear  in  his  own  mind.  But  he  is  a  cheerful  man,  dis 
posed  to  chat,  and  to  amiable  views  of  life;  and,  when  I 
half-deprecate  the  trash  which  I  have  piled  up  beneath 
his  steelyard?,  and  am  afraid  he  will  think  I  am  not  a 


23 

good  housekeeper,  be  replies,  comfortably,  that  people 
always  have  a  heap  of  things  to  pick  up  when  it  comes 
spring — (thou  good,  consoling  creature,  it  is  midsum 
mer!) — and  his  wife  always  finds  odds  and  ends  accu 
mulate  in  winter,  especially  as  she  is  not  well.  She, 
last  winter,  only  went  from  kitchen  to  bedroom.  I  hope 
that  he  takes  good  care  of  her.  He  does,  indeed.  She 
wanted  him  to  give  her  a  sleigh-ride,  but  he  told  her  he 
would  give  her  a  sleigh-ride  when  it  came  wheeling. 
lie  should  certainly  take  good  care  of  her,  for  it  is  too 
much  expense  to  get  another.  Here  it  is  my  turn  to 
open  my  eyes  and  meditate  on  Divine  Providence. 
"  Yes,"  he  adds,  "  there  is  not  only  the  expense  of  bury 
ing  one  wife,  but  there  is  always  a  good  deal  of  expense 
in  getting  another.  Then,  the  second  wife  never  quite 
makes  good  the  first."  I  am  somewhat  appeased,  and 
put  my  head  out  of  the  shell  again,  and  ask  if  he  has 
any  children. 

Yes,  he  has  five.  If  they  were  all  living  there  would 
be  a  dozen  of  them.  What  do  I  think  of  that? 

Unutterable  things,  but  I  hope  they  are  all  good. 

"Well,  there's  worse  children  than  mine.  There's 
children  that  gives  their  parents  more  trouble  than 
mine.  My  oldest  boy,  he's  twenty.  He's  loafing  to 
day.  The  boss  wanted  him  to  stay  yesterday  (Sunday), 
so  he's  loafing  to-day.  Do  you  know — you  must  excuse 
me  for  taking  such  a  liberty — but  you  remind  me  very 
strongly  of  my  wedding-day." 

"Do  I?     Why?" 

"You're  just  about  the  build  of  my  wife,  and  she 
wore  a  dress  exactly  that  color.  I  could  almost  swear 

o 


26  TWEL  VE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

it  was  the  same.  A  little  way  off  I  should  think  it  was 
she.  You  must  excuse  me." 

Excuse  you !  Oh  cunning  peddler !  Why,  it  is  a 
compliment.  I  suppose  your  wife  never  looked  hand 
somer  to  you  than  she  did  then. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that.  I  think  she  looks 
handsomer  to  me  to-day  than  she  ever  did." 

That  is  better  still.  Have  I  unwittingly  struck  my 
pick  into  a  placer? 

"I  can  say  this — the  longer  I  Jive  with  her  the  better 
I  like  her." 

"And  how  long  is  that?" 

"Twenty-two  years.  I  saw  her  first  in  November, 
at  church.  That  was  in  the  Old  Country.  I  went  to 
hear  what  we  called  a  reformed  fox-hunter.  He  was  a 
drinking,  gambling  fellow;  but  he  was  a  gentleman's 
son.  His  father  said  it  would  ruin  him  to  have  him 
turn  Methodist ;  but  he  saved  him  twenty  thousand  dol 
lars  a  year  by  it." 

So  I  have  not  only  rid  myself  of  my  rags,  and  en 
riched  myself  with  coffee-pots  and  egg-beaters  and  for 
ty-four  cents  hard  money — that  is,  currency,  the  hardest 
money  going — but  I  have  also  found  in  this  gay  red 
cart  a  fine  old  English  church,  ivy-hung  and  fair  to  look 
upon  ;  and  within  a  fresh  young  English  girl,  ruddy 
and  winsome,  and  a  stalwart  English  lad,  with  honest 
eyes  and  manly  face,  who  seeks  heaven  under  the  gypsy 
hat  rather  than  on  the  fox-hunting  lips;  and  finds  it  the 
sooner,  perhaps.  For  over  the  hills  and  far  away,  across 
the  sea,  and  into  the  wide,  foreign  land,  the  fresh  young 
English  girl  follows  her  English  lad-lover  and  husband 


LEMOX-DROrS.  27 

in  one  now  these  twenty  years.  Little  ones  come — and 
go,  alas!  —  for  wisdom  lingers;  but  happiness  lingers, 
too ;  and  the  English  lad,  now  a  sturdy,  handsome  man, 
in  middle  life,  wears  a  face  of  content  and  repose;  and  I 
know  the  little  lass,  albeit  taking  somewhat  less  kindly 
to  our  alien  climate,  and  grown,  perhaps,  a  thought  too 
pale  and  thin,  is  yet  a  gentle  and  happy  woman,  wearing 
her  matronly  charms  with  no  less  winning  a  grace  than 
she  wore  her  maiden  freshness  in  the  ivied  church  of 
Merrie  England. 

See,  now,  what  comes  from  putting  yourself  in  the 
line  of  Providence,  and  selling  your  old  rags! 

Of  another  sort,  O  Lemonians!  are  those  represent 
atives  whom  you  send  us  with  the  little  black  glazed 
carpet-bags ;  and  we  spew  them  out  of  our  mouths. 
Non  tali  auxilio!  Better  bereft  of  lemon-drops  forever 
than  moisten  thirsty  lips  with  bitter  draughts.  For 
what  is  in  those  uncanny  carpet-bags?  Needles  and 
thread  and  sewing -silk  and  pins  and  brooches,  they 
say;  but  we  know  it  is  burglars'  tools — jimmies  and 
false  keys,  and  all  things  which  do  not  make  for  peace. 
We  will  none  of  them.  If  your  shops  overflow  with 
wares,  and  your  streets  are  grass-grown  for  lack  of  buy 
ers,  go  West  and  fell  trees  and  make  wildernesses  blos 
som  ;  but  do  not  send  your  emissaries  twelve  miles  into 
our  wilderness  to  profane  it  with  cotton  lace  and  dollar 
jewelry,  and  possible  picking  of  postern  locks.  Such 
evil-minded  folk  march  boldly  up  to  the  door,  do  not 
wait  to  be  bidden  in,  scarcely  even  to  ring  or  knock, 
but  entering  unwelcome,  with  impudent  eyes  roving 
around  your  room,  ask  if  you  want  a  new  kind  of  glass- 


28  TWEL  VE  MILES  FROX  A  LEXOX, 

cs,  concavo-convex,  double  lens,  Heaven  knows  what, 
that  will  enable  you  to  see  around  a  corner  with  the 
back  of  your  head.  And  though  you  assure  the  in 
quirer  that  your  eyes  are  perfect,  and  that  you  would 
not  look  around  a  corner  if  you  could,  the  creature  is 
hardly  persuaded,  but  continues  to  unfold  his  brazen 
glasses  with  brazen  fingers,  till  the  unwearying  monot 
ony  of  your  No  makes  an  impression  even  upon  his 
brazen  brain.  Does  he  then  depart  in  peace?  Do  not 
flatter  yourself.  He  steps  quickly  enough  down  the 
gravel  walk;  but  if  you  do  not  hear  the  gate  click  duly, 
go  around  through  the  dining-room,  and  you  will  find 
his  wicked  nose  flattened  against  the  east  parlor  win 
dow.  There  rage  supplies  you  with  courage,  and  you 
fling  the  front-door  wide  open  and  order  him  off  the 
premises,  which  order  he  obeys  with  much  gibbering 
and  gesticulating,  that  may  be  deprecation  or  defiance 
—you  can  not  tell.  Thus  he  goes  through  the  village, 
stirring  up  sedition,  and  reporting  at  each  house  that 
lie  has  sold  a  pair  of  glasses  to  each  resident  in  all  the 
preceding  houses.  And  when  you  tell  your  thrilling 
tale  to  Hassan  the  Turk,  with  intent  to  rouse  him  to  re 
prisals,  at  least  to  the  extent  of  having  this  budding  vil 
lain  well  watched  out  of  town,  he  only  saj's,  with  stolid 
indifference,  "A  cat  may  look  upon  a  king.  Is  there 
any  thing  in  your  parlor  too  good  to  be  seen?" 

Infinitely  better  than  these,  though  inferior  to  Hones- 
tus  of  the  red  cart,  is  he  who  comes  with  a  pack  on  his 
back.  These  have  diminished  in  numbers  of  late  years, 
but  they  used  to  be  frequent  callers,  and  their  coming 
was  a  pleasant  exhilaration.  Almost  always  German?, 


29 

small  of  stature,  why,  strong,  and  pleasant- voiced, 
shrewd  and  careful,  they  deposit  their  packs  on  the 
kitchen  floor,  and  unfold  rich  parcels  of  silk  and  linen 
that  might  tempt  even  a  connoisseur.  How  they  can 
travel  under  such  a  weight  is  astonishing;  and  how 
they  can  recompense  themselves  among  us  plain  coun 
try  folk,  who  call  a  family  council  and  make  a  pilgrim 
age  to  Mecca  whenever  we  buy  a  silk  gown,  is  inex 
plicable;  but  travel  they  do,  or  did,  revolving  in  their 
orbits  as  regularly  as  the  planets,  till  we  came  to  have 
a  friendly  familiarity  with  their  friendly  faces.  So,  no 
doubt,  they  found  their  account  in  it;  and  many  of 
them,  I  dare  say,  have  by  this  time  invested  the  money 
they  made  in  our  village,  thrown  down  the  pack,  opened 
shop,  become  merchant  princes,  and  been  murdered  in 
New  York — an  encouragement  to  all  poor  and  industri 
ous  boys  not  to  despise  the  day  of  small  things. 

Next  to  the  glazed  carpet-bags  do  we  hate  and  abhor 
the  tall  clerical-looking  men  who  accost  us  with  a  jaun 
ty  air,  and  ask  us  to  accept  a  box  of  soap  as  a  present ! 
We  suspect  these  Greeks  in  any  case,  but,  bearing  gifts, 
we  know  there  is  a  cat  under  the  meal.  And  when 
they  ape  the  clergy,  Heavens!  how  we  ache  to  choke 
them  with  their  white  chokers!  O  Lemonians,  keep 
such  trash  in  your  own  borders!  To  us  it  is  rank,  and 
smells  to  heaven. 

And  look  well,  Lemonia,  wre  country  folk  pray  you, 
to  the  ways  of  the  agents  whom  you  send  down  upon 
us  like  frogs  and  lice  and  locusts  for  multitude.  Send 
us  women,  if  you  like,  or  send  us  men,  but  let  them  be 
ignorant.  A  little  learning  is  such  a  dangerous  thin<r. 


30  TWEL  VE  MILES  FROM  A  LE310X. 

The  people  who  come  around  -with  apple-parers  and 
pencil-sharpeners,  dress-making  systems  and  new-fash 
ioned  larnp-chimneys,  are  well  enough.  We  do  not  ob 
ject  to  being  reminded  by  such  tokens  that  we  are 
within  twelve  miles  of  the  Lemon;  but  when  the  re 
ligious  newspaper -agents  bore  into  your  house  like 
worms  of  the  dust  as  they  are,  and  ask  your  house 
keeper  about  your  way  of  life  and  j-our  personal  his 
tory,  why,  you  would  like  to  grill  them  over  a  slow  fire. 
They  have  just  intelligence  enough  to  be  curious,  but 
not  enough  to  be  decent;  and  decency  should  be  well 
burned  into  them.  The  apple-corers  are  modest  and 
professional ;  but  these  literary  frogs  and  toads  evident 
ly  believe,  with  Job's  sorry  set  of  friends,  that  they  are 
the  people,  and  wisdom  shall  die  with  them.  You  are 
not  helped  by  instructing  your  door-tender  to  give  to 
all  a  bland  but  blank  refusal,  for  that  only  keeps  out 
the  good  ones.  The  pachydermata,  the  articulata,  the 
vermes,  will  still  worm  themselves  through  to  their  own 
destruction. 

We  know  that  we  are  outside  barbarians,  far  off  from 
ice  and  lemons  and  green  pease;  but  we  are  often 
moved,  0  Lemonia !  to  exclaim  with  Sidney,  thy  ne 
cessity  is  greater  than  ours.  When  I  see  a  poor  man 
traveling  up  hill  and  down  across  our  country-side,  ex 
pecting  to  earn  his  bread-and-butter  by  the  commission 
he  is  to  receive  on  the  sale  of  his  books,  and  think  of 
the  sparse  farm-houses  where  he  is  to  sell  them,  the 
farmers  mowing  the  marshes  knee-deep  in  salt-water, 
and  the  women  rising  at  midnight  to  cook  their  sup 
pers.  I  am  just  not  moved  to  tears.  Surely  the  lines 


LEMOX-DROrS.  31 

liave  fallen  to  you  in  stony  places.  Is  there  no  corn 
in  Egypt  that  you  must  come  up  to  Canaan  to  gather 
these  scanty  gleanings?  The  minister  may  generally 
be  counted  on  as  secure  prey,  and  sometimes  a  freak 
-will  take  a  farmer  or  two  of  us,  to  the  peddler's  advan 
tage. 

"  These  Bibles  are  cheap  and  well  got  up,"  says  the 
Bible-vender,  who  understands  how  to  mingle  religion 
and  trade  in  a  shrewd  composite. 

Yes,  you  answer;  but  you  have  Bibles  enough  al 
ready. 

"But  so  has  your  neighbor  over  yonder,"  says  the 
Bible-man.  "  He  said  he  had  Bibles  enough,  but  he 
had  just  as  lief  leave  part  of  his  property  in  Bibles  as 
any  thing  else;  and  he  bought  three." 

If  the  agents  who  have  somewhat  to  give  in  return 
for  our  well-fingered  currency  find  us  a  hard  row  to 
hoe, -how  rocky  must  be  the  field  to  those  gentlemen 
who  come  intent  on  begging,  "  pure  and  simple !"  They 
seldom  go  from  house  to  house,  but  take  to  the  pulpit. 
Rapidly  and  statistically  they  unfold  the  origin  and 
operation  of  their  plans,  and  cheerfully  we  listen,  quite 
well  knowing  we  are  masters  of  the  situation,  and  shall 
present  a  firm  front  to  the  foe,  but  perfectly  willing  to 
hear  what  he  has  to  say,  and  glad  our  own  minister  has 
a,  breathing-place  thrown  in.  The  American  Board  and 
the  Home  Missionaries  we  look  after  regularly,  under 
the  lead  of  our  own  shepherd;  the  few  "town  poor" 
we  maintain  in  a  style  that  dazzles  the  neighboring- 
nabobs;  but  when  it  comes  to  Sailors'  Aid  Societies,  we 
query  how  many  of  our  greenbacks  would  get  into  the 


32  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

sailors'  pockets.  As  for  the  converted  Jews,  we  rather 
think  we  like  them  best  the  natural  way.  And  really 
it  is  a  pretty  joke,  you  Western  colleges  stretching  out 
your  hands  from  your  waving  wheat-fields,  your  inland 
seas  white  with  commerce,  your  cities  running  riot  with 
riches,  and  claiming  tribute  from  our  stern  and  rock- 
bound  coast!  Still,  if  it  pleases  you  to  come  to  us  in 
appeal,  come.  You  little  know  the  invincibility  and 
the  invisibility  of  our  defenses;  but  come.  We  will 
feast  you  as  long  as  you  stay,  for  we  have  a  saving 
faith  in  bread-and-butter,  pies,  and  preserves.  We  will 
listen  to  you  with  decorum  ;  and  if  a  ten-cent  scrip  or  a 
ragged  quarter  will  serve  your  purpose,  we  will  drop  it 
in,  rather  than  the  contribution-box  should  go  by  us 
without  stopping. 

"But  if  them  fellers  want  more  larnin/'  says  Uncle 
'Miah,  having  placidly  sat  the  sermon  out,  and  speaking 
now  the  wisdom  of  his  eighty  toiling  years — "  if  them 
fellers  want  more  larnin,  let  'em  come  down  here  and 
go  a  term  to  Esther,  and  carry  on  my  farm  to  halves." 

And  all  the  people  shall  say,  Amen !  So,  Messieurs 
mes  fibres,  come  down  and  present  your  "cause"  to  us 
as  often  as  you  like. 


HEMLOCK 


III. 

HEML  0  CK  POISON. 

No  one  can  suspect  bow  much  trouble  it  would  Lave 
been  to  make  the  world,  until  he  has  tried  his  own  hand 
at  world-making. 

Once  we  wanted  a  hill  where  nature  had  spread  a 
plain.  We  undertook  to  raise  one.  A  hill  looks  easy 
enough.  For  days,  for  weeks,  men  and  horses  and  carts 
were  digging,  hauling,  loading,  and  tipping,  and  it  was 
not  much  of  a  hill  after  all.  We  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  easier  to  make  a  very  large  hole  than  a  very 
small  bill.  When  you  have  floundered  in  the  dirt  many 
days,  when  drags  have  crisscrossed  your  grounds  in  all 
directions,  and  harrows  have  scratched,  and  rollers  have 
smoothed,  and  yet  you  need  a  magnifying  glass  to  see. 
where  your  hill  is,  you  are  prepared  to  read  with  new 
admiration,  "He  spake,  and  it  was  done;  he  command 
ed,  and  it  stood  fast." 

Nevertheless,  the  spring-world  ever  calls  you  afresh. 
When  the  snow  melts,  when  the  brooks  are  unbound, 
and  the  skies  grow  tender,  and  the  brown  buds  swell, 
the  still  small  voice  of  the  coming  summer  woos  you 
into  loving  alliance  with  Nature*  fashioning  the  Earth 
to  beautj-. 

I  suppose  we  are  the  proprietors  of  the  poorest  tract 
of  land  on  the  North  American  Continent;  and  the 


34  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

worst  cultivated.  Something  is  sure  to  be  planted  that 
we  do  not  want,  and  something  to  be  left  out  that  we 
do  want.  What  with  cabbages  and  cows,  and  white 
beans  hanging  forgotten,  brown  and  shriveled,  to  the 
shuddering  vines  for  a  mildew  and  a  blight,  till  the 
snows  drift  over  them,  Hassan  the  Turk  says  there  are 
three  crops  in  which  we  excel :  those  which  are  planted 
and  do  not  come  up,  those  which  come  up  and  are  not 
gathered,  and  those  we  do  not  plant  at  all. 

But  we  like  farming  so  much  that  we  can  not  with 
draw  our  hand.  We  would  rather  fail  in  that  than  suc 
ceed  in  any  thing  else.  So  we  go  on  every  spring,  dig 
ging  a  little  wildly,  perhaps,  but  digging,  harrowing  our 
fields  and  our  friendly  farmers'  feelings,  no  doubt,  at 
one  fell  swoop,  and  trying  to  save  money  enough  in 
other  ways  to  keep  our  agricultural  extravagance  from 
presently  bringing  us  upon  the  town. 

But  it  did  not  seem  extravagant  to  attempt  to  raise 
a  few  pines  and  hemlocks.  Having  tried  every  thing 
else  in  vain,  we  turned  with  humility  to  these  hardy 
plants,  and  remembered  that  the  destruction  of  trees  is 
supposed  to  be  the  cause  of  our  long  and  severe  droughts, 
and  hoped  to  deserve  well  of  the  republic,  besides  sit 
ting  under  our  own  shadows  with  great  delight.  Has 
san  the  Turk  said  our  soil  was  so  much  like  the  soil 
to  which  pines  are  native  that  he- did  not  believe  they 
would  detect  a  change.  We  might  steal  a  march  on 
them,  as  it  were,  and  they  would  begin  growing  before 
they  discovered  it  was  our  land,  and  then  it  would  be 
too  late  to  stop. 

Oh !  the  pleasure  of  the  work  !     The  smell  of  the 


HEMLOCK  roisox.  35 

damp,  upturned  earth,  the  loveliness  of  the  fragrant, 
dark,  dewy  woods  where  you  go  to  see  how  the  Lord 
God  sets  his  pines  because  you  wish  yours  to  look  just 
like  them!  Alas!  how  soon  you  find  that  you  follow 
Nature  as  little  lulus  did  his  father,  with  unequal  steps. 
The  trees  of  the  Lord  spring  up  untrained,  in  careless 
places,  in  graceful  and  exuberant  confusion,  while  your 
groves  are  bent  on  assuming  stiff  geometrical  figures. 
Downing — is  it,  who  recommends  you  to  fling  a  handful 
of  potatoes  into  the  air  and  set  your  trees  where  they 
come  down  ?  We  darkened  the  air  with  flying  and  fall 
ing  potatoes,  and  they  alighted  in.  one  heap.  Having 
spent  a  whole  morning  in  a  strenuous,  and  we  hoped,  not 
unsuccessful  endeavor  to  reproduce  the  charming  irreg 
ularity  of  nature,  our  withdrawing  footsteps  are  arrested 
by  the  anxious  voice  of  a  conscientious  workman,  "I 
don't  know  as  you  care — but — seems  to  me— them  trees 
ain't  in  a  straight  line!" 

And  so  your  forests  are  set  a- waving,  and  the  beauty 
of  it  is  that  you  have  no  weary  waiting,  for  they  are  a 
joy  from  the  first  moment  of  their  arrival.  A  hemlock 
grows  larger,  but  it  is  never  more  symmetrical  or  inter 
esting  than  when  it  is  first  set.  A  pine  is  as  tall  at  its 
transplanting  as  a  rose-bush  in  its  old  age.  Yesterday 
a  waste  of  pebbly  hill-side,  a  level  stretch  of  green- 
to-day  the  morning  breeze  on  tree-tops,  flickering  shad 
ows  on  the  grass,  the  poise  of  robins  on  the  branches, 
blue-birds  flashing  in  and  out,  and  the  whir  of  hum 
ming-birds  on  their  way  to  hone}Tsuckles. 

But  sweet  Nature  is  cruel.  No  sooner  is  my  little 
venture  made  than  the  stars  in  their  courses  fight 


36  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

against  me.  My  trees  fairly  rooted,  and  such  a  drought 
comes  as  lias  not  been  known  in  Israel  these  years.  The 
trees  that  were  to  be  transplanted  with  so  much  of  their 
mother  earth  around  them  that  they  were  expected  nev 
er  to  find  it  out,  began  to  show  signs  of  homesickness. 
We  water  them,  but  what  are  a  dozen  watering-pots 
among  so  many?  We  build  our  hopes  on  anniversarj'- 
week,  but  the  heavens  have  forgotten  the  Tract  Society, 
and  their  clergy  give  but  dry  disquisitions.  My  green 
ery  makes  a  brave  fight.  It  has  nothing  but  a  little 
mulch  to  encourage  it,  yet  it  smiles  on  me  and  clings  to 
life.  But  a  saint  could  not  hold  out  forever  against  the 
raging,  pitiless  sun,  this  dry,  parching,  dust-fraught  wind, 
and  the  tassels  of  the  pines  must  droop,  and  the  stocky, 
sturdy  hemlocks  put  on  an  ominous  yellow. 

"  Oh,  Hassan !"  cries  the  voice  of  dism?vy,  "  what  shall 
I  do  if  my  hemlocks  die?" 

"You  have  something  still  left  to  live  for,"  answers, 
cheerfully,  Hassan  the  Turk.  But  the  iron  has  not  en 
tered  his  soul. 

"Do  you  think  they  will  die?" 

"Guess  so.  I  set  out  a  hedge  of  hemlocks  once. 
Paid  sixty  dollars  for  it.  .  They  all  died." 

"Oh  !  why  did  you  not  tell  me  sooner?" 

"  So  you  will  fall  foul  of  me !  Well,  hemlocks  always 
were  a  dangerous  plaything.  Socrates  got  the  first  lick, 
and  I  shall  bring  up  the  rear  in  good  company." 

I  strongly  object  to  the  word  lick,  but  that  is  what  he 
said.  I  only  answered : 

"It  is  really  sad  to  hear  you  speak  with  such  levity 
in  the  presence  of  so  great  a  trouble." 


HEMLOCK  roisoy.  37 

"Trouble?  You  have  nothing  on  earth  to  trouble 
you  but  four  dead  hemlocks  on  one  side  of  your  gate, 
and  five  live  ones  on  the  other.  Do  you  want  me  to 
put  on  a  weed  for  that?" 

"But  tell  me  what  to  do.  Perhaps  something  might 
still  save  them." 

"  Well,  my  advice  is,  that  you  immediately  take  a 
fresh  cry  over  your  hemlocks,  then  pull  them  all  up, 
and  write  an  account  of  it  for  The  Neiv  England  Farmer, 
and  make  him  pay  for  them,  dead  or  alive,  two  prices 
if  dead,  and  hurry  up,  or  they  will  live  yet,  and  you  will 
be  too  late." 

A  man  of  ability  who  is  willing  to  give  his  mind  to 
a  subject  is  a  very  useful  person ;  but  when  he  ap 
proaches  a  topic  with  unseemly  frivolity,  he  is  a  great 
deal  worse  than  nobody. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  Turks  and  Tract  Societies,  the  trees 
lived.  A  very  few  went  desperately  on  to  yellow  death, 
but  we  cut  them  down  darkly  at  dead  of  night,  as  they 
buried  Sir  John  Moore, 

"By  the  straggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 
And  the  lanterns  dimly  burning," 

and  the  neighbors  never  missed  them.  Ever  is  it  easier 
to  bear  our  misfortunes  than  the  comments  of  our  friends 
upon  them,  as  Lacon  saith.  A  few  hemlocks  also  gave 
up  their  beautiful  ghosts,  but.  we  luckily  had  an  out 
lying  surplus  plantation  wherewithal  to  fill  the  breach; 
so,  with  flying  banners,  we  went  on  gayly,  till  St.  Johns- 
wort  flauntecl  on  the  hills,  and  golden-rod  rose  by  every 
way-side,  and  we  knew  that  Autumn  was  holding  out 
her  sceptre  for  the  world's  encouragement. 


38  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LE3IOX. 

Then  again  anguish  pierced  my  heart,  for  again  blight 
seemed  to  settle  on  the  pines.  Their  green  spikes  re- 
assumed  that  baleful  yellow,  only,  unlike  the  past,  their 
tips  staid  green.  I  scorned  to  ask  questions  that  might 
seem  to  be  begging  for  re-assurance,  but  said  to  my 
friend  the  forester,  in  an  indifferent  sort  of  way,  "I  am 
afraid  I  am  going  to  lose  my  trees.  They  seem  to  be 
turning."  I  cherished  a  faint  hope  he  would  say  they 
always  did  so. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  promptly,  "I  thinks  likely  you  won't 
have  more'n  three  or  four  left  by  spring!" 

After  the  first  spasm  of  disgust,  I  excused  him  by  re 
flecting  that  he  made  no  pretense  to  science,  but  con 
tented  himself  with  doing  with  his  might  whatever  his 
hand  found  to  do.  But  my  friend  the  President  is  a 
man  who  can  speak  of  trees,  from  the  cedar-tree  that  is 
in  Lebanon  even  unto  the  hyssop  that  springeth  out  of 
the  wall.  So  I  said  to  him,  with  the  same  nonchalant 
air,  "By-the-way,  my  trees  are  going  to  die.  They  arc 
all  turned  yellow." 

"Are  they?  Oh!  pity,  pity!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
sympathy  almost  better  than  pines. 

Mark  now.  A  few  days  afterward  I  was  driving  in 
the  woods,  and,  behold !  the  trees  of  the  good  God  were 
all  turning  yellow,  just  like  mine ! 

It  was  no  dying  at  all.  It  was  just  as  I  had  vague 
ly  hoped — the  way  of  a  pine-tree  in  the  autumn ;  and 
neither  the  practical  man  of  the  axe  nor  the  theoretical 
man  of  science  knew  any  thing  about  it.  0  Lucifer, 
Son  of  the  Morning,  how  much  of  thy  reputation  is 
founded  in  the  ignorance  of  thy  followers! 


HEMLOCK  POISOX.  39 

The  cold  days  came,  and  we  left  our  pines  and  hem 
locks  to  their  winter  work  and  their  winter  rest,  flour 
ishing  like  a  green  bay -tree.  We  thought  they  had 
stood  the  crucial  test,  and  might 

"  Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 
Nor  the  furious  winters  rages." 

We  talked  lovingly  of  their  beauty,  and  wondered  how 
much  they  would  have  grown  by  the  time  we  and  the 
summer  should  have  returned  to  them.  The  dreadful, 
the  relentless,  the  irresistible  winter  came — came  and 
staid.  The  slow,  chilled  spring  followed,  laggard  and 
lame.  But  life  was  full  of  warmth  and  brightness  and 
color,  and  I  feared  no  evil.  In  common  with  all  the 
world,  we  pitied  Peshtigo  and  bewailed  Chicago,  though 
I  may  whisper  in  an  aside  that  the  largest  and  loveli 
est  diamonds  I  ever  saw  were  hanging  upon  large  and 
lovely  Chicago  sufferers!  We  watched  with  anxious 
eagerness  the  perils  and  privations  of  snow -blocked 
travelers  journeying  "  from  the  land  of  the  Sunrise  to 
ward  the  Sunrising,"  or  fleeing  the  ice-fields  of  Maine 
for  the  mild  rigors  of  Lake  Wenham,  and  never  dream 
ed  that  we  had  any  thing  at  stake  in  the  thermometer. 
But,  alas!  as  soon  as  the  country  was  thawed  out,  omi 
nous  messages  began  to  trickle  through.  John  Baptist 
cried  first  in  the  wilderness : 

"I  am  afraid  winter  has  slain  many  of  your  ever 
greens.  My  own  hemlocks  have  half  their  tops  win 
ter-killed,  and  many  of  my  pines  are  dead.  The  little 
shelter  afforded  by  the  old  fence  and  those  venerable 
apple-trees  which  you  were  prevailed  on  to  spare  for 
my  sake  (I  had  resisted  his  passionate  entreaties  to  cut 


40  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

them  down !  Never  while  a  bluebird  lives,  or  a  thrush 
sings,  or  an  oriole  flames,  never  while  a  home-born  po 
tato  is  problematical  and  no  amount  of  horticulture  will 
let  us  have  pease,  will  I  lay  the  axe  at  the  root  of  any 
tree.  Shall  I,  who  can  not  raise  so  much  as  a  bush, 
presume  to  raze  a  tree?)  may  probably  have  saved  your 
hedge.  The  line  between  life  and  death  is  very  thin. 
The  heavy  wind  at  zero  seemed  to  cut  the  poor  trees 
to  the  heart.  Your  hill  would  also  help  yours." 

In  a  world  like  this  it  does  seem  useless  to  anticipate 
trouble,  and  I  only  answered  tartly,  "  Do  you  mean  that 
all  your  hemlocks  are  half  dead,  or  half  your  hemlocks 
are  all  dead?"  It  was  a  mere  quibble,  and  flippant 
enough,  but  it  turned  aside  the  poisoned  dart  for  a 
time. 

Presently  came  another  messenger  malign. 

"  Your  pines  are  turning  yellow.  Ask  your  scientific 
President  if  that  is  a  good  sign." 

I  did  not  heed  the  covert  sneer,  but  my  heart  mis 
gave  me  for  yellow  pines  in  spring.  Botany  is  silent, 
and  analogy  can  not  bear  false  witness  against  its  neigh 
bor.  Nor  am  I  called  to  fight  a  foreboding,  but  a 
fact. 

Practical  Common  Sense  anon  took  up  the  parable, 
and  piped. 

"More  than  half  your  hemlocks  in  the  incipient 
hedge  are  dead — at.least  look  dead,  but  may  yet  spring 
up  from  the.  roots." 

Thanks  for  the  intended  consolation;  but  as  we  sel 
dom  expect  a  large  crop  of  apples  from  hemlocks,  and 
the  look  is  all  there  is  of  them,  I  would  rather  they 


HEMLOCK  roisox.  41 

should  be  dead  and  look  alive,  than  be  alive  and  look 
dead. 

Artless  Innocence,  in  letter  number  four,  prattled 
simply,  but  stinging! y, 

"About  all  your  little  trees  that  you  planted  are 
dead." 

Then  Job  arose  and  said,  ':  Of  course  they  are  dead. 
What  inducement  had  they  to. live?  Hear  what  the 
newspaper  saith :  '  The  destruction  of  evergreens  was 
general  over  New  England.  Mr.  M.,  the  nurseryman, 
lost  over  five  thousand  dollars  by  damage  to  his  nurs 
ery-bed  of  evergreens.'  And  again  :  '  The  pines  and 
cedars  everywhere,  even  in  the  parks  about  New  York, 
and  the  rhododendrons  and  the  strawberries,  are  badly 
hurt,'  And  yet  again:  'All  the  young  evergreens  in 
New  York  and  Massachusetts  are  dead.  The  warm 
weather  of  February  started  the  sap,  and  the  cold  weath 
er  of  March  froze  them.  It  is  a  severe  blow  to  thou 
sands  of  nurserymen  who  gained  a  livelihood  by  raising 
evergreens  for  market.  It  will  take  years  to  replace 
them.  In  Central  Park,  New  York,  one  would  be  led 
to  think  fire  had  run  through  it,  as  not  a  green  tree  is 
spared.' " 

Of  course  I  never  undertook  to  stem  such  a  tide  as 
this.  I  planted  my  pines  in  good  faith,  trusting  to  the 
promise  of  the  rainbow.  Nothing  that  money  or  mulch 
could  do  was  spared,  but  I  never  took  a  contract  to 
thaw  out  the  North  Pole.  When  lovely  Nature  stoops 
to  folly  of  this  stupendous  sort,  the  only  thing  left  for 
any  respectable  hemlock  is  to  wring  his  bosom,  and  to 
die.  Surely  'Wisdom  is  justified  of  her  children. 


42  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

But  why  should  Nature  be  so  churlish?  When  I 
am  trying  in  my  small  way  to  beautify  the  world,  why 
does  she  hinder?  I  have  no  Titanic  ambition  to  grati 
fy.  I  do  not  aim  to  rival  her  Californian  Big  Trees, 
or  to  outshine  and  outshade  her  Amazonian  forests.  I 
only  seek  to  transfer  the  unappropriated  beauty  of  her 
wildernesses  to  my  own  door-yard.  I  will  not  rob  her 
of  a  tithe  of  her  charm.  I  will  but  gather  a  little  of  it 
to  my  heart.  If  she  will  not  help,  can  she  not  at  least 
let  rne  alone?  She  sees  me  scratching  the  earth  with 
feeble  fingers  for  a  few  forlorn  bushes.  From  he'r  mul 
titudinous  and  magnitudinous  tree-tops,  from  her  wild, 
wide,  trackless  forests,  she  might  well  laugh  me  to  scorn. 
But  is  it  noble,  is  it  magnanimous  in  her  to  rise  up  and 
send  down  upon  us  the  coldest  winter  we  have  had  for 
twenty-five  years  just  to  freeze  me  out?  Would  I  have 
treated  Caius  Cassius  so? 

Meanwhile,  what  pleasure  can  be  derived  from  three 
hundred  feet  of  hemlock  skeletons  filing  past  the  front 
door,  that  pleasure  I  enjoy. 

"  Far  or  forgot  to  me  is  near ; 

Shadow  and  sunlight  are  the  same ; 
The  vanished  gods  to  me  appear ; 
And  one  to  me  are  shame  and  fame." 

And  Hassan  the  Turk  immediately  added  with  dis. 
tinguishing  emphasis, 

"  The  strong  gods  Pine  for  my  abode, 
And  Pine  in  vain  the  sacred  Seven/' 

A  romantic  visitor,  fresh  from  our  charming  neigh 
bor's  Brier  Hill,  tried  to  continue  the  spell  by  naming 
us  "Pine  Lodge."  We  smiled  and  simpered,  but  did 


HEMLOCK  POISON.  43 

not  deny  the  soft  impeachment.  It  has  a  manorial 
sound.  One  could  almost  imagine  himself  an  English 
country  gentleman,  untitled,  but  of  ancient  blood,  while 
dating  his  letter  from  Pine  Lodge.  But  the  pines  will 
not  lodge.  Their  end  is  to  be  burned,  and  that  swiftly. 
Thus  passes  away  the  glory  of  our  name.  We  can  not^ 
by  an  appellative,  constantly  renew  our  unspeakable 
griefs.  Hassan  the  Turk  suggests  that  we  re-christen 
ourselves  The  Pinery.  That,  he  says,  with  grim  jocu 
larity,  will  never  be  a  misnomer ! 


44  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 


IV. 

THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CAR 
PENTRY. 

THIS  is  an  interesting  world,  whether  you  have  helped 
re-make  it,  or  whether  you  take  it  as  it  is.  You  live 
and  live  and  live — so  long  that  you  can  not  remember 
a  time  that  you  were  not  alive.  You  learn  the  look 
of  things,  and  the  name  of  things,  and  you  fancy  you 
know  the  things  themselves.  But  one  day,  some  er 
rand,  perhaps  some  caprice,  calls  you.  You  open  a  gate 
which  has  stood  in  its  place  ever  since  the  foundation 
of  the  world.  It  was  a  commonplace  enough  gate.  It 
never  elicited  your  curiosity — scarcely  even  your  atten 
tion.  If  you  thought  of  it  at  all,  you  thought  only  that 
it  led  into  a  pasture-ground  beyond.  But  you  open  it, 
you  pass  through,  and  behold  you  are  in  a  new  world ! 

Then  you  perceive  that  hitherto  the  gate-way  was  no 
entrance,  but  a  barricade.  You  saw  only  the  outside 
and  were  content  with  a  name. 

From  generation  to  generation,  men  have  built,  and 
repaired,  and  destroyed  houses,  but  until  you  have  done 
it  yourself,  carpentry  is  but  a  lost  art,  a  voice,  and  noth 
ing  more.  "Knowledge  by  suffering  entereth,"  says 
the  poet.  Yes,  and  knowledge  by  doing,  entereth  also. 

I  suppose  it  will  not  be  denied  that  change  itself  is 
pleasure.  When  a  fit  of  weariness  overtakes  you,  real 


THE   \YOXDERS  AXD    WISDOM  OF  CASPESTRY.        45 

rest  and  refreshment  are  to  be  found  in  pushing  the 
bureau  back  into  the  corner,  wheeling  the  sofa  up  to 
the  fire-place,  and  bearing  the  what-not  over  to  the 
south-west.  You  bring  the  satisfaction  of  foreign  trav 
el  into  your  own  room.  When  you  can  change  not 
only  the  furnishing  of  your  apartment,  but  the  apart 
ment  itself,  when  the  spirit  of  diversion  enters  into  your 
partitions,  when  your  doors  begin  to  slip  around  cor 
ners,  and  your  stair-ways  dance  across  the  entry,  and  the 
entry  strikes  out  into  the  world  ;  when  blank  walls  sud 
denly  open  fair  outlooks  upon  field  and  sky,  and  pine- 
trees  breathe  welcome,  and  birds  sing  in  the  pines,  and 
humming-birds  hover  over  the  honeysuckle  where  be 
fore  the  silence  and  stupidity  of  room-paper  were  wont 
to  reign;  life  becomes  new  every  morning,  and  fresh 
every  evening. 

You  have  a  mind  to  "  introduce  water  into  the  house." 
Our  ancestors  must  have  had  a  sort  of  hydrophobia.  A 
house  without  water,  is  like  a  body  without  blood  ;  but 
twelve  miles  from  a  lemon  most  houses  are  thus  blood 
less.  People  think  themselves  fortunate  who  have  a 
well  in  the  door-yard,  and  must  bring  their  water  pain 
fully  in  hand-buckets.  There  is  a  notion  that  bath 
rooms  and  water-pipes  pertain  only  to  cities,  and  must 
be  sustained  by  corporations,  and  supplied  by  lakes,  and 
appear  in  hose  and  hydrants,  and  quarterly  bills. 

But  we,  in  a  moment  of  inspiration,  became  convinced 
that  a  house  may  have  water- works  even  if  you  have 
no  river  to  turn  on.  We,  meditated  a  bath-room.  It 
should  be  in  the  middle  of  the  house  for  warmth  in  win 
ter.  But  we  had  no  middle-house  to  spare.  There  nev- 


46  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMQX. 

er  is  any  room  to  spare.  The  only  available  spot  is  the 
back  entry.  Of  course,  then,  there  is  but  one  thing  to  do 
— build  on  more  house. 

There  you  have  the  problem  solved — central  bath 
room,  and  no  space  sacrificed. 

It  may  be  considered  a  cumbrous  and  costly  solution, 
and  in  some  cases  it  might  be.  But  our  land  is  good 
for  nothing.  The  only  crop  you  can  raise  on  it  is  house. 

Nature  is  stubborn,  and  will  not  yield  to  all  our  coax 
ings.  Let  us  see  if  architecture  is  equally  strong  to 
prevail  against  us. 

"We  thought  it  over  and  talked  it  over  in  twilight 
hours,  and  I  fear  we  did  not  keep  it  wholly  out  of  our 
minds  on  Sunday.  In  dreams  our  plans  rounded  out 
staunch  and  stately,  but  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  they 
would  ever  be  any  thing  but  plans — not  even  when  a 
bevy  of  foreign  workmen,  rough  and  ragged,  flocked 
across  our  grounds  and  thrust  their  spades  into  the 
greensward ;  scarcely  more  so  when  the  trim  and  shrewd 
American  workmen  came  in  like  a  flood  and  bestrewed 
our  hill  with  bricks  and  boards.  But  time  went  on, 
beams  defined  the  cellar,  rafters  dropped  into  place, 
planks  spanned  abysses,  chimneys  sprang  aloft,  rooms 
and  windows  and  door-ways  began  to  develop  them 
selves,  and  lo!  our  thought,  our  remote,  shadowy,  in 
tangible,  and  then  our  exact  and  elaborate  thought,  stood 
out  in  wood  and  plaster,  and  brick  and  marble,  before 
our  very  eyes! 

I  must  admit  that  I  felt  a  hearty  enthusiasm  for  my 
self.  "Is  not  this  great  Babylon  which  /have  built?" 
This  is  not  necessarily  arrogance.  It  mny  be  akin  to 


THE  WONDERS  AND    WISDOJf  OF  CARPENTRY.       47 

worship.  To  be  sure,  I  had  not  lifted  a  finger.  So 
much  the  more  in  our  small  human  way  had  we  follow 
ed  His  method  whose 

"Eternal  thought  mores  on 
His  undisturbed  affairs." 

We  had  spoken,  and  it  was  done.  We  commanded,  and 
it  stands  fast. 

And  yet  the  best  part  of  the  whole  is  that,  thanks  to 
the  limitations  of  human  nature,  it  was  not  done  at  our 
simple  speaking.  The  doing  was  a  process,  and  the 
process  was  a  constant  joy. 

But  people  are  awry.  They  have  fallen  into  confu 
sion  as  to  what  constitutes  good  and  evil.  "  Well,  I 
am  sure  it  is  a  great  job,"  they  would  say  with  a  heavy 
sigh.  And  so  it  would  have  been  had  we  lifted  the 
beams,  and  sawed  the  boards,  and  driven  the  nails  our 
selves;  but  it  is  no  job  at  all  to  sit  in  the  sunshine  and 
see  other  people  hammering.  And  that  is  really  all 
that  building  a  house  amounts  to.  The  fact  is  that  we 
are  scared  by  imagination.  Real  things  do  not  so  much 
trouble  us.  It  is  phantoms  of  things  evoked  from  our 
brains.  It  is  no  trouble  at  all  to  make  a  bath-room. 
The  trouble  is  in  the  fancy  of  what  bath-room  building 
may  be. 

But  the  disorder  of  house-repairing!  There  it  is 
again.  The  mischievous  error  that  .order  is  Heaven's 
first  law,  is  the  heresy  of  many  otherwise  excellent 
women.  Order  is  not  Heaven's  first  law.  It  is  disor 
der.  Order  comes  second.  I  have  Pope  against  me, 
but  Moses  and  the  Prophets  are  on  my  side.  "In  the 
besnnniner  God  created  the  heavens  and  the  earth." 


"48  T\V£L  VE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

"And  the  earth  was  without  form  and  void." 

Can  disorder  be  more  deftly  expressed? 

We  speak  of  the  turtle  as  if  his  tribe  were  the  only 
one  that  carries  its  house  on  its  head.  But  in  fact  we 
are  but  the  turtle's  elder  brethren,  and  carry  our  houses 
on  our  heads  and  in  our  hearts  as  well.  It  is  impossi 
ble  to  tell  or  even  to  know  what  a  care  a  house  is  till 
you  throw  it  off.  The  delight  of  having  no  "  fall  cltan- 
ing!"  The  happiness  of  seeing  every  thing  at  six's 
and  seven's,  and  knowing  that  is  just  where  it  ought  to 
be !  All  the  closets  are  bestrewn  upon  tables,  and  noth 
ing  need  be  touched  for  six  weeks!  It  is  camping  out 
in  your  own  house.  Away  with  tidiness,  and  punctual 
ity,  and  regularity,  and  civilization!  Come  chaos,  and 
freedom,  living  from  hand  to  mouth,  fleetncss  of  foot, 
and  no  responsibility  for  any  thing! 

And  by  the  time  you  are  beginning  to  grow  tired  of 
it,  and  thinking  of  quiet  and  comfort — it  is  all  over. 
Tranquillity  returns  of  itself.  The  doors  and  windows 
have  become  stable,  and  you  resume  your  routine  with 
n,  heartiness  and  appreciation  to  which  you  had  hitherto 
been  a  stranger. 

Nothing  in  our  houses  becomes  us  like  the  leaving 
them  sometimes  to  themselves.  Order  is  no  spontane 
ous  generation,  but  is  the  fair  daughter  of  a  fairer  moth 
er,  disorder,  Thus  we  learn  the  proportions  and  rela 
tions  of  things. 

Carpentry  is  next  door  to  high  art,  if  indeed  it  be 
not  itself  high  art.  Of  mechanical  work  we  often  think 
lightly;  any  thing  done  mechanically  seems  to  be  done 
by  rule  and  routine,  without  spirit  or  love.  But  the 


THE  WONDERS  AND  WISDOJf  OF  CARPENTRY.         49 

mechanics  of  the  carpenter  implies  a  steadfast  soul,  a 
quick  imagination,  a  keen  eye,  a  fine,  firm  band.  The 
higher  grade  of  carpentry  we  recognize  as  art,  and  call 
it  architecture ;  and  its  designer  an  architect.  The  ca 
thedrals  and  palaces  of  the  Old  World  are  pictures  and 
poems  in  stones.  Not  only  were  inexhaustible  patience 
and  boundless  wealth  built  into  them,  but  it  was  genius 
that  conceived  them,  and  in  the  brain  of  the  artist  they 
had  their  first  life. 

The  carpenter  who  builds  your  house  is  no  Michael 
Angelo  for  a  pope's  patronage,  and  his  name  may  never 
be  heard  beyond  his  own  countiy.  But  he  is  also  no 
dullard,  blank  of  design  as  the  wood  on  which  he  works. 
Somebody,  or  perhaps  many  bodies — many  minds — 
have  brought  this  modest  household  service  to  such  a 
pass,  that  the  skillful  carpenter  must  be  a  man  of  mind. 
I  suppose  any  dunce  can  drive  a  nail  and  saw  a  board, 
and  if  a  man  is  content  to  be  a  hewer  of  wood  all  his 
life,  and  to  live  under  authority,  he  can  be  a  clumsy 
carpenter.  But  the  master  of  his  trade  lays  hold  of 
mathematics,  understands  the  science  of  proportion, 
foresees  the  statue  in  the  marble. 

Your  new  house,  let  us  say,  is  to  be  built  in  the  coun 
try,  and  fastened  trig  and  firm  to  the  old  one.  It  is 
also  not  to  look  as  if  it  were  an  after -thought,  and 
patched  on,  but  as  if  it  grew  there  in  the  beginning. 
This  is  the  problem.  Thus  it  is  solved  : 

The  carpenter  comes  down  from  the  city,  browses 
around  for  an  hour  or  two,  up  stairs,  down  stairs,  and  in 
my  lady's  chamber,  with  a  two-foot  rule,  takes  the  next 
train  home,  and  builds  your  house  in  New  York !  All 

3 


50  TWEL  YE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

he  does  afterward  is  to  bring  it  down  and  put  it  up. 
That  is  incredible,  only  that  I  have  seen  it  done.  Your 
house  appears  under  the  guise  of  loads  of  wood  cut  into 
numerous  shapes  and  sizes,  abounding  in  little  grooves 
and  niches  for  tongues  to  slip  in,  and  little  tongues  to 
slip  in  them,  and  they  all  slip  in !  That  is  the  marvel. 
Every  thing  fits  into  its  place.  There  is  no  taking  in 
of  seams  for  the  doors,  or  letting  down  of  tucks  for  the 
windows.  Every  frame  sits  in  the  hole  made  for  it,  and 
every  thing  stays  where  it  is  put.  Whatever  was  fore 
ordained  comes  to  pass. 

Oh  !  but  they  take  it  all  so  easily.  It  is  no  work  at 
all.  It  is  a  lazy  life.  I  have  sat  in  the  sunshine  and 
watched  them  for  hours,  and  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
about.  They  swing  on  a  staging  with  an  apronful  of 
nails,  and  hammer  leisurely  through  the  bright  October 
morning.  They  lift  a  beam  on  one  end,  and  it  falls  of 
its  own  weight.  They  set  a  board  upright,  and  then 
walk  oif  and  look  at  it.  They  never  seem  to  be  doing 
any  thing  in  particular,  only  things  somehow  get  done. 
I  look  at  my  neighbor  Barbara,  hurrying  with  might  and 
main  from  wash-tub  to  well -curb,  from  well -curb  to 
cooking-stove,  from  cooking-stove  to  ironing-board — all 
day  long  —  all  week,  and  month,  and  year  long,  and 
think  how  much  harder  a  woman  works  than  a  man. 
Barbara  seems  alwaj's  to  be  springing  at  the  top  of  her 
strength.  These  carpenters  seem  scarcely  to  bring  their 
strength  into  play,  and  I  suppose  for  their  happy-go- 
easy  life  they  are  paid  ten  times  as  much  as  poor  Bar 
bara  for  her  eager  and  lavish  outlay. 

A  blind  man  misrht  sec  that  the  moral  is  that  woman 


THE  WONDERS  AND  WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.         51 

ought  not  to  work.  It  is  the  mission  of  man,  and  for 
him  it  is  easy  and  lucrative.  It  is  foreign  to  woman, 
and  bruises  her  head,  while  she  can  only  bruise  its  heel. 
I  have  discovered,  also,  that  one  reason  why  men  are 
so  successful  in  the  world  is,  that  they  are  so  lawless. 
Women  are  constantly  hampered  by  little  scruples  of 
conscience,  or  propriety,  or  economy.  A  man  seems  to 
think  that  every  thing  was  made  for  the  purpose  to 
which  he  chooses  to  turn  it.  I  have  no  reason  to  suppose 
that  my  carpenters  wrere  not  scrupulously  honest,  but 
if  we  had  been  in  a  state  of  declared  warfare  they  could 
not  have  confiscated  my  property  with  more  remorse 
less  readiness.  If  they  wanted  any  thing,  they  took  it. 
Did  they  desire  to  mix  mortar?  they  made  a  raid  on 
the  wash-tub.  Depict  the  emotions  of  the  female  breast 
at  seeing  a  range  of  tubs  carried  out  of  the  cellar, 
knocked  around  the  well,  and  bedaubed  with  mud  I 
Think  of  finding  your  chopping-bowl  under  the  garret- 
caves  doing  duty  as  a  nail-box.  If  a  woman  wanted  a 
piece  of  cloth  to  protect  water-pipes  from  abrasion,  she 
would  come  and  ask  you  for  it.  A  man  looks  around 
and  takes  the  first  thing  he  lavs  his  eyes  on.  unconscious 

O  i/  J 

and  uncaring  whether  it  is  a  passe  dish-cloth  or  a  silk 
gown.  A  woman  is  naturally  economical,  and  before 
she  puts  any  thing  to  a  use  not  strictly  germane  to  its 
purpose,  she  puts  herself  through  a  course  of  question 
ing  as  to  whether  she  may  not  want  it  for  something 
else  more  than  she  wants  it  for  this,  or  whether  some 
thing  else  of  less  value  may  not  serve  her  equally  well 
here.  A  man  is  naturally  extravagant,  and  saj's: 
"After  rnc  the  delude."  I  must  admit  that  there  is  a 


52  TWELVE  MILES  FROX  A  Li'MOX. 

certain  charm  in  this  recklessness.  .  One  gets  tired  of 
forever  balancing  exigencies,  practicing  economies,  ex 
orcising  prudence,  and  it  is  actually  refreshing  to  see 
u  being  so  made  that  he  intrinsically  does  what  he 
chooses,  without  stopping  to  consider  whether  it  is  the 
best  thing  to  do.  Men  also  are  so  much  more  accus 
tomed  than  women  to  large  outlay,  large  income,  large 
dealing,  that  they  are  impatient  of  minor  considerations, 
and  never  think  of  permitting  any  penny-wise  prudence 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  their  convenience  or  gratification. 
The  Divine  mind  is  the  only  one  that  can  equally  well 
grapple  with  outline  and  detail.  Finite  minds,  if  they 
would  compass  generals,  must  often  consent  to  sacrifice 
particulars.  There  are  some  things  in  this  life  which 
we  can  dispense  with,  and  some  which  are  indispensa 
ble.  They  are  wise  who  wisely  discriminate,  and  do  not 
lose  the  best  in  trying  to  hold  all.  There  are  women 
who  never  get  on,  because  they  do  not  know  where  to 
let  go.  They  can  do  the  sewing,  the  house -cleaning, 
the  cooking,  better  than  any  woman  they  can  hire;  so 
they  yield  to  the  temptation  and  do  it  all,  till  they  are 
broken  in  health,  and  spirits,  and  temper.  They  do  not 
see  that,  though  the  hired  help  is  a  careless  seamstress, 
an  extravagant  cook,  and  an  untidy  washer-woman,  she 
would  be  a  still  worse  home-maker;  that,  little  as  she 
contributes  to  the  family  comfort,  she  wrould  contribute 
to  the  family  happiness  still  less.  It  is  not  absolutely 
essential  that  the  silver  be  polished  every  week,  that  all 
the  carpets  be  beaten  every  full.  It  is  essential  that 
health  should  be  fine,  and  heart  cheerful,  and  temper 
tranquil.  Constituted  as  society  i?,  women,  to  effect 


THE   WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.       53 

this,  must  learn  what  things  it  will  do  to  let  go,  and 
what  must  be  held  fast.  If  we  could  have  all  the  house 
work  done  in  its  proper  time  and  manner,  it  would  be 
very  charming;  but  what  we  must  have  is  a  bright, 
warm,  wooing  atmosphere  in  the  home. 

Thus  I  mused,  sitting  on  the  new  garret  stairs  and 
observing  that  an  antiquated  but  stocky  beaver  hat, 
from  which  I  had  mentally  constructed  a  pair  of  moc 
casins,  had  been  pressed  into  service  by  my  brigands 
as  a  chisel,  screw,  and  hammer-holder. 

It  is  a  serious  objection  to  most  useful  occupations 
that  they  conflict  with  personal  neatness.  You  can  not 
sweep  without  becoming  dusty,  or  cook  without  con 
tracting  grease  spots.  The  farmer  must  grow  dirty  in 
his  potato-field,  and  the  engineer  smutty  on  his  engine. 
It  may  not  be  unwholesome,  but  it  is  certainly  not  at 
tractive.  It  does  not  affect  character,  and  is  therefore 
not  injurious;  and  what  we  should  do  if  some  persons 
were  not  willing  to  surmount  their  repugnance  and  till 
the  soil  and  drive  the  engines  for  us,  it  is  not  easy  to 
conjecture.  Certainly,  speaking  after  the  manner  of 
Sunday-schools,  we  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  them; 
but  I,  for  one,  can  blame  nobody  for  not  liking  or  choos 
ing  employments  which  soil  clothes  and  faces  and  hands. 
Carpentry  is  free  from  all  this.  The  artificer  in  wood 
may  be  as  immaculate  at  the  day's  close  as  he  was  at 
its  commencement.  He  works  in  a. clean,  sweet,  fra 
grant  substance,  fresh  and  pure  as  the  sunshine  which 
gave  it  life.  All  the  debris  of  his  work  are  odorous 
chips,  lithe  and  graceful  shavings,  sawdust — which  is 
dust  only  by  courtesy.  As  a  result,  it  is  not  surpris- 


54  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

ing  that  the  carpenter  is  a  man  of  gentleness,  grace,  and 
refinement  —  his  voice  is  melodious,  his  language  cor 
rect,  his  manners  quiet,  his  disposition  obliging.  My 
carpenters  kept  house  for  me,  as  you  may  say,  three 
months;  yet  so  considerate,  delicate,  and  intelligent 
were  they,  that  their  presence  seemed  not  so  much  in 
trusive  as  protective  and  beneficent,  and  we  felt  quite 
forsaken  when  they  packed  their  chests  and  rode  oft'. 
It  is  rather  pleasant  and  sociable  to  hear  a  little  tapping 
on  the  wall,  like  a  woodpecker  pecking  his  hollow  oak- 
tree,  and  when  you  look  up,  lo !  a  friendly  face  knock 
ing  through  the  partition.  It  is  exhilarating  to  let  in 
water  on  }7our  new  tank  just  to  see  if  you  can,  and  half- 
drowri  a  man  curled  up  in  the  bottom  of  it  soldering 
something.  Never  did  I  by  any  chance  hear  or  over 
hear  a  single  profane,  indecorous,  or  coarse  word — only 
once,  when  the  carpenters  and  plumbers,  from  their  dis 
tant  homes,  were  all  ready  to  join  forces,  and  a  part 
of  the  important  machinery  had  foiled  to  come,  and- 
thus,  of  course,  set  their  plans  at  naught.  Then  did 
I,  through  the  closed  blind  and  the  open  window,  hear 
from  the  sweet-voiced,  brown -haired,  deep-eyed  car 
penter  on  the  barn-steps  the  impatient  ejaculation, 

"Darn  it  all!" 

But,  under  the  circumstances,  that  was  not  very  bad. 
Surely  the  accusing  angel  who  flew  up  to  Heaven's 
chancery  with  the  oath  blushed  as  he  gave  it  in,  and 
the  recording  angel,  and  so  forth.  "Darn  it  all."  No 
doubt  there  are  ruffled  states  of  mind  which  this  simple, 
somewhat  inconsequent  and  inexplicable,  yet  vehement 
exclamation  may  serve  to  soothe;  and  if,  hurting  no 


THE  WONDERS  AND  WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.      55 

one,  it  does  calm  mental  or  nervous  perturbation,  it  is 
not  one  of  those  idle  words  of  which  we  must  give  ac 
count  in  the  day  of  judgment,  but  a  most  useful  and 
salubrious  word,  which  shall  smell  sweet  and  blossom 
in  the  dust. 

And  carpenters  are  like  Toodles's  coffin,  so  handy  to 
have  in  the  house.  They  not  only  do  what  you  bid 
them,  but  scores  of  things  that  you  did  not  think  of 
yourself.  They  see  all  the  available  little  nooks  for 
hooks  and  spaces  for  shelves,  which,  once  up,  you  won 
der  how  you  ever  got  on  without.  They  fasten  little 
wheels  to  all  your  wells,  till  children  cry  for  the  privi 
lege  of  drawing  water.  You  go  away  in  the  morning 
leaving  your  cellar  an  uproar  of  rubbish.  You  return 
at  night  to  find  a  place  for' every  thing  and  every  thing 
in  its  place.  Shall  I  ever  forget  the  gloom  of  a  descent 
into  that  Avernus  after  a  week's  absence,  when  chill 
November's  surly  blasts  made  a  furnace  fire  necessarj*. 
and  there  were  only  Anglo-Saxon  hands  to  build  it? 
No  heavier  lay  ^Etna  on  tortured  Enceladus  than  lay 
the  clinkers  and  ashes  of  that  cold,  uncompromising 
furnace  on  my  soul.  Shivering  hands  hold  the  feeble 
lamp,  desperate  hands  grasp  the  huge  iron  wrench,  and 
down  comes — not  the  expected  horrid  fluff  of  ashes,  but 
a  cheerful,  tiny  curl  of  shaving!  Ha!  what  is  this? 
We  gaze  into  each  other's  eyes !  It  can  not  be !  We 
tear  open  the  furnace  door.  It  is!  It  is!  Those  an 
gels  have  shaken  out  every  relic  of  the  late  departed 
fire,  have  put  in  paper  and  shavings,  and  wood  and  coal, 
so  that  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  touch  a  taper  underneath, 
and  immediately  warmth  and  light,  and  heart  and  hope, 


56  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

love  and  gratitude,  human  brotherhood,  the  unity  of 
the  race,  and  the  solidarity  of  the  peoples,  are  roaring 
through  every  pipe  and  funnel  and  chirnne\',  till  the 
whole  house  is  aglow. 

But  you  pay  them  for  it.  Of  course  you  pay  them 
for  it,  after  a  fashion.  You  hire  them  to  do  your  work 
at  so  much  a  day  or  so  much  "a  job."  But  they  do 
not  contract  to  give  you  beauty  for  ashes.  Bartering 
the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning  is  no  part  of  the  carpenter's 
trade.  Your  garment  of  praise  will  not  be  set  down  in. 
the  bill.  And  even  before  }rou  reach  their  work  of 
supererogation,  the  money  you  pay  them  is  no  equiva 
lent  for  the  service  they  render  you.  What  you  furnish 
them  is  a  few  soiled  and  flimsy  rags,  neither  pleasant  to 
the  eye,  nor  good  for  food,  nor  to  be  desired  to  make 
one  warm.  What  they  furnish  you  is  shelter,  conven 
ience,  comfort,  beauty,  grace.  Your  bank-bills  might  lie 
in  your  purse  till  the  world's  end  and  you  be  none  the 
better  for  them ;  but  what  the  carpenters  have  done  for 
you  rests  before  your  eyes  new  every  morning,  fresh 
every  evening — a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy  forever. 

I  hear  it  said  sometimes  that  such  a  man  is  a  great 
benefactor.  He  gives  work  to  so  many  people.  Not 
a  bit  of  it — they  give  work  to  him.  What  he  gives 
them  is  money.  What  they  give  him  is  woven  cloths 
for  raw  cotton  and  wool — stately  houses  for  unsightly 
heaps  of  brick  and  stone  —  winding  ways,  graveled 
paths,  solid  fences,  fertile  fields — form  to  substance,  or 
der  out  of  chaos. 

What  keeps  me  in  heart  toward  my  carpenters  is  that 
rny  money,  after  all,  represents  to  them  precisely  what 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM 'OF  CARTEXTRY.       57 

their  work  represents  to  me.  The  reason  why  the  mas 
ter-manufacturer,  the  large  land-holder,  is  not  the  hope 
less  beneficiary  of  his  hired  hands,  is  because  the  money 
which  he  pays  does  them  the  same  good  turn  that  their 
skill  and  industry  do  him.  There  is,  strictly  speaking, 
no  call  and  no  place  for  gratitude  on  either  side.  When 
my  carpenter  goes  out  of  his  line  to  build  my  fire,  I  am 
immeasurably  thankful,  but  I  am  not  thankful  that  he 
finishes  my  roofs  and  walls  according  to  contract.  At 
least  I  try  hard  not  to  be.  That  is  his  business.  If  I 
lend  him  an  umbrella  to  go  home  in  the  rain,  he  may 
thank  me — if  he  can — when  it  is  blue  cotton,  and  broken 
in  the  ribs,  and  torn  at  the  top,  and  turns  wrong  side 
out  on  the  slightest  provocation ;  but  he  owes  me  no 
thanks  for  employing  him.  I  did  that  for  my  own 
gratification,  and  he  accepted  the  employment  for  his. 
All  this  seems  very  simple,  yet  there  is  much  misappre 
hension.  "I  thank  Mr.  Smith  for  the  work  he  has  given 
me,"  I  hear  a  laboring  man  sa}',  "  but  I  don't  thank  him 
for  his  money,  for  I  have  earned  that."  Why,  then, 
you  are  not  to  thank  him  for  the  work.  If  3*011  have 
really  earned  the  money,  you  are  quits.  If  he  chose 
you  because  you  were  the  best  workman,  or  the  most 
accessible,  that  is  no  occasion  for  gratitude.  If  he  did 
it  because  you  were  poor,  unable  to  get  work,  or  to  live 
without  it,  you  may  be  thankful ;  but  that  is  very  sel 
dom  the  case.  Men  usually  employ  the  best  workmen 
they  can  get,  without  making  any  draft  upon  benevo 
lence. 

On  the  other  hand,  says  another,  "I  have  worked  for 

Mr.  Smith  all  my  life.     I  have  been  faithful,  industri 
es 


58  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEJfOX, 

ous,  and  prompt;"  as  if  that  established  some  claim  on 
Mr.  Smith's  gratitude.  But  has  he  not  paid  you  with 
equal  promptness  and  constancy?  Did  you  work  for 
him  because  you  loved  him?  If  somebody  else  would 
have  secured  you  twice  the  pay  for  the  same  work, 
would  you  not  have  gone  to  somebody  else?  If  you 
could  have  been  sure  that  by  setting  up  in  business 
yourself  you  could  have  earned  more  money  with  no 
more  labor,  trouble,  or  risk,  would  you  not  have  done 
it,  quite  regardless  of  Mr.  Smith?  It  is  true  that  Mr. 
Smith  has  used  your  muscle  freely,  and  would  have 
clone  very  ill  without  it;  and  when  he  sets  up  to  be 
your  benefactor,  I  withstand  him  to  the  face,  and  tell 
him  that  he  is  no  more  your  benefactor  than  he  is  your 
beneficiary;  But  you  also  have  freely  used  his  capital, 
sagacity,  and  credit,  and  have,  in  a  commercial  sense, 
no  claim  on  him  beyond  what  is  mentioned  in  the  bond. 

"  Ten  years  ago,"  says  my  friend  the  gas-pipe-maker, 
"  a  young  man  worked  for  me  who  never  could  have 
made  a  mechanic ;  but  he  found  he  could  buy  and  sell, 
and  he  went  into  the  business  of  selling  leather.  Re 
port  has  it  that  he  made  ten  thousand  dollars  last  year. 
I  don't  believe  that  a  single  man  that  worked  at  making 
that  leather  made  a  thousand  dollars.  During  the  ten 
years  I  have  worked  steadily,  adding  to  the  wealth  of 
the  world,  and  haven't  been  able  to  accumulate  a  thou 
sand  dollars  in  all  that  time Skill  in  trading,  in 

taking  advantage  of  others,  is  the  road  to  success.'' 

This  is  undoubtedly  a  fair  statement,  except,  perhaps, 
the  implied  identity  of  "trading  and  taking  advantage 
of  others ;"  but  what  then  ? 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.       59 

"Why,  then,"  says  my  friend,  intensifying  his  hard 
ships  by  repetition,  "I  think  I  am  as  intelligent  a  man 
as  he.  I  know  that  I  have  got  as  much  education,  and 
I  know  I  am  a  first-rate  workman  at  my  trade ;  yet  he 
makes  ten  thousand  a  year,  and  I  with  difficulty  get  a 
respectable  living." 

That  may  be,  but  whose  fault  is  it?  How  shall  we 
induce  him  to  assume  your  difficulty  and  relinquish  to 
you  his  income? 

"  There  is  no  remedy,"  says  my  friend,  with  the  en 
ergy  of  despair.  "The  Creator  of  the  world  when  he 
made  it  established  this  law.  The  strong  shall  consume 
the  weak,  and  the  strong  have  been  robbers  and  thieves 
from  that  time  to  this.  The  poor  and  weak  don't  like 
it,  and  I  can  see  but  one  way  of  escape :  that  is,  become 
strong  themselves,  become  robbers  and  thieves,  for  that 
is  what  it  amounts  to." 

Now  here,  under  a  rough  shell,  lies  a  kernel  of  truth, 
nnd  of  ultimate  truth.  Not  by  complaint,  petition,  or 
declamation  can  the  weak  escape  the  penalties  of  weak 
ness,  but  by  becoming  strong.  Strength  is  not  plunder, 
but  it  is  power.  The  weak  are  not  necessarily  victims, 
but  they  often  are  sufferers.  Who  is  the  robber  when 
the  trader  gets  ten  thousand  a  year  and  the  workman 
barely  one  ?  The  young  man  confessedly  could  not  be 
a  mechanic,  and  could  buy  and  sell.  Was  he  wrong,  or 
did  he  wrong  any  one,  when  he  ceased  trying  to  do 
what  he  could  not  do,  and  began  doing  what  he  could 
do?  One  man  is  as  good  a  workman  as  another  is  a 
trader;  but  which  demands  the  most  or  the  highest 
skill?  The  workman  works  on  dead  matter,  however 


60  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

skillful  lie  is — works  by  routine.  The  laws  of  wood 
and  water,  and  metal  and  fire,  are  well  known  and  un 
changeable.  The  work  to  be  done  to-morrow  is  the 
same  that  was  done  yesterday.  But  the  trader  deals 
with  what  are  to  human  vision  uncertainties.  He  must 
look  the  world  over.  He  makes  ten  thousand  this  year, 
but  he  may  lose  twenty  thousand  next  year.  The  am 
bition  of  a  foreign  emperor,  nay,  the  advent  of  a  little 
caterpillar,  may  overthrow  his  plans  and  baffle  his  cal 
culations.  His  mental  faculties  must  be  perpetually  on 
the  alert.  A  single  error  of  judgment  may  precipitate 
fatal  disaster.  The  workman  may  go  on  if  he  choose 
thinking  of  nothing,  noting  nothing,  but  the  material 
that  lies  before  him.  Is  it  robbery,  is  it  unjust,  that  the 
strain  and  s4ress  of  all  the  powers  should  receive  a  larger 
remuneration  than  the  partial  employment  of  a  few? 
that  the  absorption  of  mental  faculties  should  be  counted 
a  thing  of  far  greater  value  than  the  occupation  of  phys 
ical  faculties  ?  When  the  trader  loses  ten  thousand  a 
year,  does  the  workman  complain  that  he  loses  nothing, 
or  that  his  loss  is  as  small  as  his  profit  in  proportion  to 
his  employer's  ? 

And,  again,  if  the  young  trader  makes  ten  thousand 
to  the  workman's  one,  why  does  not  the  workman  turn 
trader?  The  trading  thief  or  robber  can  not  prevent 
him.  If  he  choose  to  leave  his  bench  and  set  up  a 
counting-room,  the  world  is  all  before  him  where  to 
choose.  The  successful  trader  began  on  as  small  a  cap 
ital  as  the  unsuccessful  workman.  He  has  no  power  to 
force  men  to  buy  or  sell.  He  may,  of  course,  lie ;  doubt 
less  he  often  does  lie ;  but  it  is  not  an  inherent  part  of 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.        61 

the  business.  Trading  is  not  necessarily  taking  advan 
tage  of  others,  any  more  than  it  is  taking  advantage  of 
yourself,  unless  it  means  that  every  thing  ought  to  stay 
where  it  is  forever.  The  trader  may  be  just  as  much  a 
benefactor  as  the  workman.  If  a  poor  widow  kills  her 
cow,  or  loses  it  by  accident,  she  is  far  better  off  to  have 
the  leather-dealer's  money  than  she  is  to  retain  the 
cow's  hide.  lie  does  not  rob  her  by  buying  it.  He 
does  not  even  take  advantage  of  her  any  more  than  he 
gives  advantage  to  her.  He  may,  owing  to  her  igno 
rance,  put  her  off  with  half  price ;  but  that  is  cheating, 
not  trading.  So  the  shoe-maker  puts  cheap  leather  in 
one  shoe  and  good  leather  in  the  other;  but  that  is  not 
a  part  of  shoe-making,  it  is  cheating.  When  the  leather- 
dealer  sells  his  leather,  he  is  not  the  benefactor  or  the 
beneficiary  of  his  purchaser.  In  fact,  I  can  not  see  why 
the  leather-dealer  is  not  adding  as  much  to  the  wealth 
of  the  world  as  the  leather-maker.  Leather  laid  up  on 
the  shelf  is  not  wealth ;  it  is  leather  in  circulation  that 
is  wealth.  Take  away  leather-selling,  and  leather-mak 
ing  would,  quickly  follow.  Take  away  leather-sellers, 
and  leather-makers  would  have  a  far  harder  time  than 
they  have  now.  It  is  because  long  trial  has  established 
the  fact  that,  on  the  whole,  it  is  better  for  producers  to 
appoint  some  person  to  carry  their  produce  to  market 
than  it  is  for  each  producer  to  leave  his  work  and  go  to 
market  himself,  that  these  middle-men  exist.  It  is  be 
cause,  on  the  whole,  good  middle-men  are  more  rare 
than  good  workmen,  that  middle-men  are  paid  so  much 
more  than  workmen.  That  workmen  do  not  ostensibly 
appoint  traders,  does  not  affect  the  case.  The  supply 


62  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

of  trade  comes  at  the  demand  of  work.  One  workman 
is 'just  as  free  to  leave  his  bench  and  turn  trader  as 
another.  If  he  can  not  do  it — if  he  does  not  like  it,  or 
does  not  feel  able  to  succeed  in  it — it  is  no  fault  of  the 
trader.  It  is  a  matter  that  lies  between  him  and  his 
Maker.  A  man  may  just  as  well  complain  of  being 
robbed  of  his  just  rights  because  he  has  not  the  strength 
of  a  horse,  the  buoyancy  of  a  bird,  the  swiftness  of  the 
wind,  as  because  he  has  not  the  breadth  of  vision,  the 
keenness  of  perception,  the  rapidity  and  correctness  of 
judgment,  necessary  to  constitute  a  successful  trader. 
If  these  are  to  be  compassed  by  his  own  efforts,  it  is  his 
own  fault  that  he  has  them  not.  If  they  depend  upon 
the  Creative  Will,  who  is  to  blame  for  the  deficiency? 

In  our  country  loose  thinking  upon  matters  of  polit 
ical  economy  has  not  yet  been  largely  disastrous ;  but 
over  the  sea  the  battle  is  fought  with  blood  and  fire  and 
vapor  of  smoke.  My  friend  who  talks  of  traders  as  rob 
bers  and  thieves  is  apparently  not  far  from  the  position 
of  those  Red  Republicans  of  London  who  avowed  to  the 
world,  one  Easter  Sunday,  "that  the  accumulation  of 
property  was  robbery,  and  that  those  who  accumulated 
it  were  not  only  thieves,  but  murderers."  My  friend'.-? 
reason  is  th*at  himself,  a  good  workman,  makes  but  hard 
ly  a  respectable  living,  while  the  trader — a  man  of  no 
more  intelligence  or  education  than  himself — makes  a 
fortune.  To  this  it  may,  indeed,  be  said,  "  You,  if  you 
could  do  what  the  trader  does,  would  receive  the  same 
returns ;"  but  there  are  so  many  points  which  ought  to 
enter  into  the  comparison  that  one  must  be  chary  in  ac 
cepting  his  conclusions.  The  money  which  a  man  ac- 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.        63 

cumulates  depends  not  only  upon  what  lie  earns,  but 
upon  what  he  spends,  and  upon  how  he  spends  it.  Two 
men  will  work  side  by  side  in  the  same  shop  upon  equal 
wages.  One  buys  cigars  and  wine,  frequents  balls  and 
billiards,  hires  horses  and  carriages,  procures  fine  clothes 
for  himself  and  his  family,  takes  frequent  holidays,  and 
finds  himself  at  the  end  of  ten  years  no  richer  than  at 
the  beginning.  Another  abstains  from  all  sensual  in- 

O  D 

diligence,  finds  amusement  in  the  society  of  his  fam 
ily,  carefully  invests  his  small  surplusage  every  month, 
and  at  the  end  of  ten  years,  without  speculation,  or  any 
means  except  industry  and  prudent  investment,  is  the 
owner  of  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  has  besides  lived  a 
life  as  happy,  and  reared  a  family  as  comfortable,  as  re 
spectable,  as  well  educated,  as  his  neighbor  who  has 
spent  his  all.  Of  course  sickness  or  inevitable  disaster 
may  make  a  man's  effort  unsuccessful,  but  that  is  not 
robbery  or  thieving;  and  I  know — for  I  have  seen  it 
again  and  again — that  a  good  workman,  by  steady  ad 
herence  to  his  trade,  by  forethought,  economy,  and  a 
wise  disposition  of  his  money,  may  not  only  earn  a  com 
fortable  living,  but  may  lay  up  resources  for  his  old  age, 
and  leave  a  sufficient  legacy  to  his  children.  Let  me 
see  how  a  man  and  his  wife  manage  their  earnings  be 
fore  I  pronounce  robbery  and  plunder  to  be  the  cause 
of  their  impecuniosity. 

The  self-denial,  the  rigid  economy,  the  wise  fore 
thought,  which  many  rich  men  practiced  before  they  be 
came  rich,  and  which  was  a  part  of  the  system  whereby 
they  became  rich,  is  more  than  many  poor  people  prac 
tice  all  their  lives.  To  walk  when  you  can  not  ride  is 


64:  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

not  self-denial.  Self-denial  is  to  walk  when  you  can 
ride,  and  thrift  is  to  take  tbe  money  for  investment. 
Expenditure  is  not  extravagance.  The  poor  are  often 
more  extravagant  than  the  rich.  Improvidence  does 
worse  for  the  former  than  ostentation  for  the  latter. 

It  is  true  that  the  intelligence  of  the  workman  may 
be  greater  than  that  of  the  trader.  A  man  ignorant  and 
almost  stupid  in  literary,  scientific,  or  aesthetic  matters 
may  be  successful  as  a  trader ;  but  he  is  always  skillful. 
He  is  keenly  intelligent  as  to  the  state  of  the  market,  as 
to  what  will  be  a  good  object  to  take  hold  of,  as  to  the 
comparative  value  of  stocks;  and  it  is  this  keenness, 
this  special  intelligence,  which  is  so  handsomely  re 
warded.  If  the  workman  will  become  similarly  and 
equally  intelligent,  he,  too,  will  be  equally  rewarded. 
But  to  stand  with  lowering  brow  and  arms  akimbo,  and 
mutter  "thief"  and  "robber," is  neither  here  nor  there. 
He  may,  like  his  brother  of  France,  become  a  Eed  Re 
publican,  without  the  excuse  which  his  brother  of 
France  can  plead;  but  when  he  has  accomplished  his 
end,  and  property  is  redistributed,  and  trader  and  work 
man  receive  by  law  the  same  wage,  it  is  a  question 
whether  he  will,  on  the  whole,  find  life  easier. 

"Cultivated  people,"  continues  my  friend,  "live  on 
the  industry  of  others.  Cultivated  people,  you  say,  are 
what  the  country  needs.  We  don't  need  them  in  this 
part  of  it,  at  any  rate,  for and  vicinity  are  over 
flowing  with  them,  and  a  more  selfish  or  meaner  class 
of  people  don't  exist." 

Practicing  on  this  sound  and  salutary  principle,  it  is 
to  be  hoped,  good  friend,  you  are  doing  all  you  can  to 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.       65 

discountenance  and  annihilate  tin's  mean,  selfish,  idle 
class,  and  to  strengthen  and  honor  your  country  by 
preaching  and  practicing  the  gospel  of  non-cultivation. 
You  must  never  go  to  church,  for  the  clergy  are  noto 
riously  mean,  selfish,  and  cultivated,  lazily  lounging  in 
wealth  which  they  have  extorted  from  the  pains  of  their 
people,  riotously  living  on  the  industry  of  others.  You 
must  never  attend  concerts,  for  the  concert  is  made  by 
persons  who  have  cultivated  their  voices  to  the  last  de 
gree  by  unintermitting  indolence.  You  must  hear  no 
lectures,  for  the  lecturer,  unless  he  is  a  very  poor  one, 
never  added  so  much  as  a  gas -pipe  to  the  world's 
wealth.  You  must  not  buy  books  or  magazines  or 
newspapers,  illustrated  or  otherwise,  for  you  are  thereby 
countenancing  the  droning  swarm  of  writers  and  artists 
who  have  drifted  through  college,  and  sauntered  through 
apprenticeship,  and  have  now  fastened  upon  the  hard 
working  mechanic,  the  pure  and  virtuous  gas-piper, 
who  has  been  really  doing  something  for  the  world,  and 
force  him  to  the  book-stall  to  buy  a  Harper's  Bazar  for 
ten  cents,  while  they  themselves  do  nothing  but  scratch 
a  wooden  block  or  make  black  marks  on  white  paper, 
which  nobody  can  eat,  drink,  or  wear.  You  must  not 
send  your  children  to  school,  for  you  are  thereby  not 
only  pampering  those  bloated  aristocrats  who  live  on 
the  industry  of  others,  the  mean,  cultivated,  and  selfish 
school-teachers,  but  you  are  directly  re-enforcing  their 
ranks  by  turning  your  own  children  into  "cultivated 
people;"  nor  must  you  have  them  taught  at  home,  for 
in  so  doing  you  will  only  change  the  place  and  keep 
the  pain.  You  must  denude  your  house  of  carpets  and 


66  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

curtains,  and  pictures  and  looking-glasses,  and  paint 
and  paper,  for  they  are  all  means  of  grace  and  "  cultiva 
tion."  Nay,  I  do  not  know  on  what  principle  you  can 
retain  your  gas-pipes,  for  we  can  be  just  as  healthy,  and 
some  say  healthier,  without  them.  People  lived  con 
tented  and  died  in  peace  before  gas-pipes  were  thought 
of.  They  do  not  add  to  the  world's  wealth,  except  that 
mineral  wrought  into  gas-pipes  brings  more  money  than 
mineral  in  the  rough.  But,  just  so,  words  wrought  by 
those  cultivated  villains,  the  newspaper  writers,  into 
editorials,  or  by  selfish,  idle,  cultivated  novelists  into 
stories,  bring  more  money  than  words  lying  around 
loose  in  the  dictionary  ;  and  it  is  what  cultivated  peo 
ple  have  done  that  makes  your  gas-pipes  worth  while. 
When  you  have  sent  out  of  your  house  every  thing 
which  cultivated  people  have  sent  into  it,  you  will  have 
very  little  use  for  gas.  Whether,  then,  we  look  at  the 
amount  of  vital  force  you  put  in  your  work,  at  the  act 
ual  necessity  of  your  work  to  the  world,  or  at  the  hap 
piness  which  your  work  brings  to  the  world,  we  see  no 
reason  why  you,  as  well  as  the  writer,  the  preacher,  the 
orator,  the  singer,  the  trader,  should  not  be  reckoned  in 
the  ranks  of  those  who  live  upon  the  industry  of  others. 
It  is  only  when  you  have  steadfastly  set  your  face  and 
your  children's  faces  toward  the  huts,  nuts,  and  naked 
ness  of  the  noble  savages  from  whom  you  descended, 
that  you  are  living  up  to  your  principles,  and  advan 
cing  your -country  in  the  path  of  true  glory. 

When  the  relation  between  employer  and  employed 
is  further  complicated  by  a  relation  between  man  and 
woman,  our  confusion  becomes  worse  confounded.  It  is 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.        67 

difficult  to  keep  the  mercantile  and  the  sentimental  sep 
arate. 

One  of  our  stock  stories,  to  illustrate  the  wickedness 
of  the  existing  relations  between  man  and  woman,  tells 
of  a  young  woman  who  sought  employment  in  a  store. 
The  owner  offered  her  a  certain  sum  per  week.  "  That," 
said  she,  "will  just  pay  my  board,  but  what  shall  I  do 
for  clothes?"  He  made  an  insulting  reply.  Such  is  the 
total  depravity  of  male  employers. 

But  why  did  the  young  woman  lay  herself  open  to 
insult?  The  man,  was  a  villain,  but  as  long  as  she  kept 
on  proper  ground  he  staid  there  too.  When  he  had 
named  his  terms,  it  was  for  her  to  accept  or  decline,  not 
to  argue.  It  was  no  affair  of  his  what  she  did  with  her 
money,  or  how  she  got  her  clothes.  All  that  concerned 
him  was  the  value  to  him  of  her  services.  When  she 
began  to  consult  him  about  her  wardrobe,  she  at  once 
abandoned  commercial  and  assumed  confidential  rela 
tions  with  him,  and,  as  he  was  a  bad  man,  he  answered 
her  according  to  his  badness.  There  is  nothing  to  show 
that  the  cloven-foot  revealed  itself  till  she  furnished  the 
opportunity. 

Men  are  worse  than  women.  There  can  be  little 
doubt  of  that;  but  sometimes  I  think  their  badness 
would  be  more  smothered  out  of  sight  if  women  were 
more  discreet  —  shall  we  say,  more  high-minded  and 
unapproachable  ? 

It  is  sincerely  to  be-wished  that  the  relations  between 
employer  and  employed  were  more  friendly;  that  each 
should  see  that  their  interests  are  not  antagonistic.  As 
men  are  not  mere  machines,  but  reasoning  and  cmo- 


68  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

tional  animals,  it  is  a  pity  that  the  fact  should  not  be 
taken  advantage  of,  and  that  those  who  are  bound  to 
gether  by  ties  of  business  should  not  also  be  bound  by 
hearty  good-fellowship.  But  there  is  no  basis  for  good- 
fellowship  without  a  thorough  understanding  on  both 
sides  of  the  justice  of  the  case.  So  long,  however,  as 
there  is  misapprehension,  irritation,  and  ignorance,  the 
most  enlightened  and  the  most  noble  should  be  the 
most  patient  and  conciliatory.  Not  only  Christianity, 
but  national  existence,  seems  to  require  this. 

There  are  times  when  the  east  seems  reddening  with 
the  dawn  of  the  perfect  day.  Its  coming  sunshine  stirs 
our  hearts.  The  air  is  soft  with  its  warmth,  sweet  with 
its  balms,  stimulating  with  its  breezes.  It  is  pleasant  to 
live,  it  is  easy  to  be  tolerant;  the  whole  earth  is  grate 
ful.  But  gray  grows  the  auroral,  sky — gather  again 
the  leaden  clouds;  and  the  sharp  winds  tell  us,  and  the 
bare  hills  repeat,  that  the  perfect  day  is  yet  far  off;  and 
no  man  can  tell  its  coming. 

If  it  were  ever  lawful  or  possible  to  be  disheartened, 
one  might  be  disheartened  by  a  certain  baleful  exulta 
tion  over  the  Chicago  fire.  Nothing  ever  more  truly 
showed  the  brotherhood  of  man,  the  oneness  of  human 
ity,  than  the  spontaneous  uprising  of  the  world  to  help 
the  smitten  city.  But  along  with  it  all  there  was  an 
evil  portent.  It  was  the  undisguised  rejoicing  of  some 
of  the  poor  over  the  destruction  and  ruin.  The  first 
fire,  they  said,  was  the  poor  man's  fire.  This  is  the  rich 
man's  fire.  Now  we  shall  all  be  poor  together.  Let 
them  see  how  good  it  is. 

It  is  not  the  ignorance  of  politico  1  economy  displayed 


THE  WONDERS  AND  WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.       69 

in  this  rejoicing — not  the  entire  unconsciousness  that 
the  loss  of  the  rich  is  doubly  the  loss  of  the  poor,  which 
makes  it  lamentable ;  but  the  class  feeling  revealed.  It 
shows  us  that  the  poor  are  arrayed  against  the  rich. 
They  feel  not  that  we  are  all  citizens  of  one  country, 
members  of  one  family,  but  classes,  hostile  in  purpose, 
divided  in  interest,  antagonistic  in  sentiment. 

It  matters  not  how  baseless  such  a  feeling  may  be, 
though  baseless  it  is  to  every  right-minded  person.  So 
ciety  could  hardly  exist  in  which  the  conditions  of  life 
should  be  more  equal,  more  equitable  than  in  ours. 
The  obstacles  presented  by  law,  by  government,  to  in 
dividual  growth,  are  well-nigh  imperceptible.  Personal 
freedom  is  practically  unbounded.  Nature  alone  pre 
scribes  limitations.  A  man  is  poor  because  he  lacks 
ability  to  be  rich,  not  because  he  lacks  opportunity. 
A  man  is  ignorant  because  he  has  not  the  desire  or  the 
will  to  learn,  not  because  he  has  no  chance  to  learn.  A 
few  arc  born  to  squalor  and  degradation ;  but  it  is  the 
fault  of  their  parents,  not  of  national  institutions.  They 
are  so  in  spite  of,  not  in  consequence  of,  law  and  cus 
tom.  In  our  country  the  man  of  principle,  industry, 
thrift,  intelligence,  skill,  is  morally  certain  to  be  success 
ful  in  business  and  respected  in  society. 

Bat  that  the  class  which  rejoices  over  destruction  is 
an  unintelligent,  unthrifty  class,  is  not  pertinent.  The 
danger  lies  in  the  fact  that  such  a  class  exists.  It  is  no 
matter  that  their  hostility  is  groundless.  The  point  is 
to  do  away  with  the  hostility.  It  behooves  the  rich, 
the  well-to-do,  the  independent,  not  only  to  help  the 
weak  to  be  strong,  but  to  inspire  them  with  friendliness 


* 
70  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

\vhile  they  are  weak.  The  task  is  no  easy  one.  The 
ignorant  classes  in  our  country  are,  I  suppose,  chiefly 
foreigners.  Probably,  of  all  the  family  servants  in  Chi 
cago  who  turned  upon  their  mistresses  after  the  fire  with 
impertinence  and  insubordination,  not  one  was  a  native- 
born  American.  With  these  foreigners  all  the  tradi 
tions  of  the  past  are  so  different  from  ours,  the  blood  of 
their  generations  has  made  them  so  unlike  us,  that  it 
is  difficult  to  come  into  the  circle  of  their  sympathies. 
Difficult,  but  not  impossible. 

In  this  matter  the  wisest  political  economy  is  at  one 
with  the  highest  religious  principle.  Religion  no  more 
strenuously  enjoins  Christian  brotherhood,  than  the  safe 
ty  of  the  State  demands  social  brotherhood.  Caste  is  not 
only  unscriptural,  but  unsafe.  He  who  throws  down  a 
single  barrier  between  rich  and  poor,  he  who  originates 
or  cultivates  between  them  sympathy  of  taste  or  feeling, 
serves  the  State  no  less  than  humanity.  The  good  work 
is  not  to  be  wrought  by  sowing  false  principles  and 
pleasing  fancies.  Law  is  inexorable.  You  may  tell  the 
suffering  thousands  of  great  cities  that  the  accumulation 
of  property  is  a  crime;  that  the  bequeathing  of  proper 
ty  is  a  monstrosity ;  that  all  property  should  be  equal 
ly  divided  among  the  population  once  in  seven  years. 
You  may  send  a  ray  of  hope,  a  thrill  of  jo}r,  into  their 
heavy  hearts;  but  the  darkness  will  shut  down  again. 
For,  first,  your  property  is  not  going  to  be  divided  once 
in  seven  years;  and,  secondly,  if  it  were,  there  would 
speedily  be  no  property  to  be  divided,  and  the  last  state 
of  these  people  would  be  worse  than  the  first.  Yet 
there  arc  men  who  are  reckoned  friends  of  the  poor, 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.       71 

and  held  in  honor  by  the  poor,  on  no  stronger  grounds 
than  this.  "With  idle  fancies  they  lure  on  their  victims 
in  the  same  evil  path  which  has  already  led  them  into 
sore  distress. 

Yet  there  are  many  ways  in  which,  without  trenching 
on  the  great  laws  of  social  economy,  a  pleasant  senti 
ment  can  be  engendered,  and  real  benefit  conferred.  In 
nature  there  is  no  grace.  In  revelation  there  is  found 
room  for  grace.  We  are  not  of  nature,  but  of  grace. 
A  great  deal  of  our  life  is  logic,  but  there  is  still  some 
thing  left  for  speculation.  Prompt  wages,  contracts  ful 
filled,  supply  the  demands  of  justice ;  but  above  and  be 
yond  this  lies  the  beautiful  domain  of  human  sympa 
thy  and  unity. 

A  waste  of  ungainly  gravel,  standing  between  two 
city  buildings  in  Lemonia,  had  been  changed  into  a 
lovely  garden-plot,  bordered  with  turf,  blooming  with 
flowers.  I  watched  it  with  delight  for  many  days,  nev 
er  going  past  without  receiving  its  smile  of  colors,  its 
breath  of  spices.  But  one  morning  my  garden-spot 
went  back  into  the  wilderness.  A  high  board  fence, 
impassable,  impenetrable,  shut  me  out  from  my  lilies 
and  roses — shut  out,  along  with  me,  the  old  woman  with 
the  orange  basket,  the  strawberry-man,  the  hand-organ 
bands,  the  school  children,  all  the  little  and  big  barefoot 
boys  and  girls,  all  wanderers  and  wayfarers.  I  did  not 
murmur.  But  who  is  the  gainer?  Do  the  roses  open 
any  wider,  or  are  the  buds  any  sweeter  for  their  seclu 
sion  ?  True,  the  owner  can  come  out  among  his  odors 
and  blossoms  unseen  of  men,  as  he  surely  has  the  right 
to  do.  But  woe  is  me  for  the  scores  of  weary  feet  that 


72  TWELVE  MILES  FJiOM  A  LEMON. 

linger  no  more,  and  the  wistful  eyes  that  know  not  to 
complain.  I  bethink  me  of  a  rich  man  who  built  him 
self  a  stately  house,  and  laid  out  spacious  grounds,  plant 
ing  them  with  trees,  adorning  them  with  shrubbery,  en 
livening  them  with  fountains;  but  by  no  hedge  nor 
fence  other  than  a  slight  and  almost  imperceptible 
boundary-line  would  he  be  circumscribed  withal.  "  I 
don't  want  to  be  shut  in,"  he  would  exclaim.  "I  want 
to  look  out  upon  the  world,  and  I  \vant  the  world  to 
look  in  upon  me.  I  want  the  workmen,  going  to  their 
morning  work,  the  shop-girls  and  the  office-boys,  to  see 
iny  grass  and  my  trees,  my  fountains  playing  and  my 
birds  singing.  That  is  what  I  had  them  for."  So  the 
city  goes  thronging  by,  and  the  milliner  and  mantua- 
muker  partake  the  dew  and  freshness  of  his  morning; 
and  all  the  people  own  the  beautiful  hill,  without 
thought  or  care. 

When  the  owner  of  the  factory  has  paid  wages  to 
the  men,  women,  and  children  whom  he  employs,  his 
technical  obligation  to  them  ceases.  Strictly  speaking, 
they  are  mere  working  machines;  he  is  an  employing 
or  paying  machine.  How  they  spend  their  time  out  of 
his  mills  is,  no  affair  of  his.  Whether  they  live  com 
fortably,  respectably,  virtuously — whether  they  slave 
or  starve — he  has  no  responsibilitj'.  The  employed  has 
no  right  to  look  to  the  employer  for  any  thing  but  the 
money  which  he  agreed  to  pay. 

The  reason  why  a  strict  adherence  to  the  letter  of  this 
law  does  not  always  work  well  in  practice  is  that  you 
never  can  count  on  men  as  machines.  Calculations  al- 
wavs  fail  unless  men  are  reckoned  as  human,  sensitive, 


THE  WONDERS  AXD    WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.        7& 

intellectual  beings.  Whether  they  be  rich  or  poor, 
learned  or  ignorant,  they  are  all  tuned  to  the  same 
key.  The  girl  in  the  kitchen  is  very  unlike  her  mis 
tress  in  the  parlor,  but  also  very  like  her.  Upon  her 
presses  the  same  hunger  for  society,  for  mental  activity, 
for  moral  sympathy — the  same  love  of  beauty,  the  same 
affection  for  kindred,  the  same  religious  sentiment.  As 
in  water  face  answereth  to  face,  so  the  heart  of  man  to 
man,  and  woman  to  woman. 

It  is  ignorance  of  this  fact,  or  misapprehension  of  its 
bearings,  which  goes  far  to  prevent  the  kindly  relations 
which  should  exist  between  employer  and  employed — 
between  persons  of  a  common  nature  and  common  in 
terests.  If  the  untutored  Irishwoman  who  exults  over 
the  destruction  of  her  mistress's  house  and  properly 
should  see  herself,  in  consequence,  at  once  turned  out 
of  house  and  home,  and  reduced  to  beggary,  she  would 
exult  no  more.  She  would  see  that  her  mistress's  loss 
was  her  own.  Society  has  become  so  compact  and  com 
plicated  that  the  loss  is  too  minutely  subdivided  to  at 
tract  Bridget's  notice ;  but  it  is  none  the  less  there,  and 
is  just  as  truly  hers  as  if  she  bore  the  whole  brunt  of  it 
on  her  broad  shoulders.  When  the  workman  earns  his 
two,  three,  and  four  dollars  a  day,  and  sees  his  proprie 
tor  gathering  in  his  tens  and  perhaps  thousands  a  year, 
it  seems  to  him  an  unequal  and  impartial  distribution 
of  awards.  If  the  workman  could  suddenly  be  set  in 
the  proprietor's  place ;  if  he  could  see  by  what  painful 
steps  the  latter  had  toiled  to  his  present  elevation  ;  if  he 
could  see  what  wide  horizons  had  to  be  scanned,  what 
multitudinous  features  comprehended,  remembered,  re- 

4 


74  TWELVE  JULES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

produced;  if  he  could  feel  the  tumult  of  anxieties,  the 
magnitude  of  issues,  the  perplexity  of  agencies,  the  bit 
terness  of  mistakes,  the  responsibility  of  losses,  he  would 
see  that  the  carriages  and  carpets  of  the  proprietor  are 
but  a  very  small  part  of  his  establishment.  There  is  a 
reverse  side. 

It  is  impossible  for  the  subordinate  to  see  things  as 
the  principal  sees  them.  If  he  could  do  so,  he  would  be 
the  principal.  But  he  can  certainly  be  made  to  feel 
that  he  is  to  his  proprietor,  as  well  as  to  himself,  some 
thing  more  than  a  machine.  There  are  factory  masters 
who  are  not  only  the  employers,  but  the  personal  friends 
of  their  operatives.  Without  trenching  upon  their  in 
dependence  or  their  personal  dignity,  the  proprietor 
does  occupy  toward  them  something  of  the  attitude  of 
a  patriarch,  a  sovereign.  He  provides  commodious  and 
tasteful  dwelling-houses.  He  beautifies  his  grounds,  and 
even  his  factories.  He  opens  a  reading-room  and  libra 
ry,  procures  lecturers,  visits  schools,  encourages  con 
certs,  tableaux,  and  dramas.  His  family  live  in  no  re 
mote  sphere,  apart  and  unapproachable,  but  they,  as 
well  as  he,  dwell  among  their  own  people.  They  cast 
in  their  lot  with  the  daily  toilers.  His  wife  and  daugh 
ters  know  the  community,  their  circumstances,  their 
character,  their  children.  Not  with  condescension,  but 
with  sympathy,  they  are  always  ready  for  advice,  for 
aid,  for  the  right  word  in  the  right  place.  There  is  on 
the  other  side  no  malice,  no  envy  of  superior  position, 
for  it  is  seen  to  be  only  a  source  and  centre  of  grace. 
And  of  all  that  proprietor's  investments  in  stocks  and 
lands,  in  roads  and  ships,  none,  I  venture  to  say,  bring 


THE  WOSDERS  AND    WISDOM  OF  CARPEXTRT.       75 

him  in  larger  returns  of  happiness  than  the  money  and 
time  and  thought  he  expends  in  enlarging  and  illustra 
ting  the  lives  of  his  workmen,  over  and  above  the  wages 
he  has  contracted  to  pay  them.  It  is  not  a  hard  duty. 
I  might  almost  say  it  is  no  duty  at  all.  It  is  a  pleasure. 
It  makes  life  agreeable  and  interesting  every  day. 

And  all  the  while  it  is  doing  this  for  the  individuals 
immediately  concerned,  it  is'helping  to  solve  the  great 
problem  of  capital  and  labor  ;  it  is  helping  to  heal  the 
old  feud  between  rich  and  poor.  It  is  not  only  patri 
otic,  but  cosmopolitan  work;  for  no  nation  is  alone  con 
cerned,. but  the  whole  world. 

So  the  unambitious  and  humble  woman  who  makes 
of  her  maid-of-all-work  a  friend  is  not  only  securing 
good  service,  but  is  fighting  her  country's  battles  with 
weapons  of'peace.  We  hear  in  all  directions  the  clash 
of  the  conflict.  Workmen  and  workwomen  are  strik 
ing  everywhere  for  higher  wages  and  less  work,  with 
what  success  it  is  impossible  to  say.  Because  a  class  of 
mechanics  wrest  from  their  employers  ten  hours'  wages 
for  eight  hours'  work,  they  are  by  no  means  successful. 
Because  an  employer  secures  for  two  dollars  work 
which  is  worth  thr.ee,  he  has  not  necessarily  come  off 
conqueror.  The  laws  of  trade  are  as  uncontrollable  as 
the  laws  of  the  sea.  If  either  employer  or  employed 
make  an  unnatural  advantage  in  one  direction,  trade 
will  restore  the  balance  by  a  corresponding  disadvan 
tage  in  another  place.  Only  the  philosopher  may  dis 
cern  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect ;  but  every  shoe 
maker  on  his  bench  feels  the  effect,  though  he  may  call 
it  by  another  name. 


76  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

But  he  who  has  planted  his  fortune  on  the  good-will 
of  his  people  has  built  his  house  upon  a  rock.  Fire 
and  flood  may  rage  around  him,  but  he  has  property 
which  neither  fire  nor  flood  can  sweep  away.  It  is  not 
always  an  easy  thing  to  overcome  prejudice,  to  disarm 
hostility,  even  to  convince  of  friendliness ;  but  the  work 
is  good  work,  missionary  work,  whatever  event  attend 
it.  It  is  a  Christian  service  to  be  the  benefactor  of  your 
rough,  ignorant  servant,  even  if  she  remain  to  her  life's 
end  unthankful  and  unholy.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  pro 
vide  opportunities  for  reading  to  a  community  of  young 
men,  even  though  they  attribute  it  to  nothing  but  self- 
interest  on  your  part  I  know  no  precept  of  the  Bi 
ble  that  says,  Do  good  to  them  that  appreciate  it,  and 
benefit  those  who  will  thank  you  for  it.  But,  as  a 
general  thing,  such  services  are  in  a  degree  appreciated. 
Among  our  own  American-born  people  they  are  intel 
ligently  and  gratefully  appreciated.  A  wise  and  gen 
erous  man  at  the  head  of  a  manufacturing  people 
holds  a  position  which  a  prince  might  envy.  More 
over,  I  suppose  that  to  God  is  a  man  responsible  not 
only  for  what  he  does,  but  for  all  that  he  might  do. 
Not  only  for  his  achievements,  but  his  opportunities, 
shall  a  man  give  account  in  the  Day  of  Judgment.  We 
are  answerable  for  all  those  with  whom  we  are  brought 
in  contact,  and  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  closeness  of 
the  contact.  Of  this  each  must  be  his  own  judge.  No 
rule  can  be  laid  down.  It  is  only  to  feel  human  broth 
erhood. 

I  remember,  in  a  gay  company,  an  amusing  story  was 
tuld  of  a  man,  unfamiliar  with  the  usages  of  society, 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.       77 

•who  mistook  the  finger-bowls  for  goblets.  It  was  no 
violent  or  stupid  error.  There  is  nothing  in  the  ap 
pearance  of  either  to  reveal  its  mission  to  the  unin 
spired  mind.  But  one  gentleman,  the  gayest  of  the 
gay,  exclaimed  quickly  and  sincerely,  "  Oh !  that  was 
too  bad;  because  some  time  he  will  find  it  out,  and  be 
extremely  mortified." 

The  quickness  of  apprehension  and  generosity  of  feel 
ing  which  enable  you  on  the  instant  to  "  put  yourself 
in  his  place"  are  the  surest  guides  to  wise  and  kindly 
action  toward  others.  It  is  for  the  rich,  the  learned,  the 
great,  not  to  isolate  themselves  in  their  wealth,  their 
enjoyment,  even  their  cares;  but  to  live  an  open  and 
bountiful  life ;  to  hold  themselves  in  harmony  and  sym 
pathy  with  their  kind ;  to  soothe  sensitiveness,  and  al 
lay  suspicion,  and  disarm  hostility,  even  though  all  may 
be  unreasonable;  to  disseminate  light  to  the  darkened 
and  rest  to  the  heavy-laden ;  to  use  their  superiority, 
of  whatever  sort,  for  the  emolument  of  the  less  favored, 
and  not  simply  for  their  own  upbuilding;  to  bring 
with  their  money  and  their  power  peace  on  earth,  good 
will  to  men. 

Nobody  has  a  right  to  forbid  the  proprietor  of  real 
estate  to  erect  a  fence  as  high  as  Hainan's  gallows.  He 
earned  his  money,  or  he  inherited  it;  he,  at  least,  owns 
it,  and  he  shall  appropriate  it  as  he  chooses.  If  he  will 
to  seclude  himself  from  his  kind,  there  is  none  to  say 
hirn  nay.  This  is  logical ;  but,  behind  the  logic,  how 
came  he  by  the  qualities  that  accumulate  fortune?  He 
is  thrifty,  but  whence  came  his  thrift?  He  practiced 
wise  and  wide  self-denial  when  his  now  poverty-stricken 


78  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A 

neighbor  was  indulging  in  riotous  and  ruinous  prodi 
gality.  But  bow  came  he  by  that  lofty  power  of  self- 
denial  ?  Where  did  he  get  those  eyes,  which  saw  the 
end  from  the  beginning?  Whence  those  high  traits — 
independence,  self-reliance,  moderation  in  all  things, 
quick  perception,  ready  judgment — which  have  made 
him  a  master  among  men,  while  his  neighbor  walks 
wavering  and  feeble,  a  servant  of  servants  unto  his 
brethren  ?  These  are  questions  which  no  man  can  an 
swer.  He  inherited  his  characteristics  from  his  ances 
tors,  but  did  he  choose  his  ancestors?  A  man  carves 
his  own  fortunes,  as  he  proudly  asserts,  but  the  fine  eye 
for  form  and  the  clever  hand  for  skill — these  he  did  not 
make.  At  most,  these  he  only  trained.  I  do  not  say 
that,  legally,  he  owes  aught  to  his  weaker  brethren ; 
but  will  he  not  gladly,  as  an  instinctive  thank-offering, 
bestow  upon  them  as  much  as  possible  of  all  that  his 
powers  have  brought  him?  He  had  somewhat  —  call 
it  talent,  genius,  perseverance,  self-control,  sagacity — 
which  enabled  him  to  watch  and  work  and  wait,  which 
has  brought  him  at  length  fame  and  fortune.  To  bid 
him  now  divide  his  goods  among  the  people  is  to  lay 
the  axe  at  the  root  of  all  healthy  trees.  But  if  he,  thank 
ful  for  his  great  endowments,  and  filled  with  love  to  his 
kind,  shall  long  to  have  all  men  rejoice  in  his  light ;  if 
he  seek  that  his  prosperity  shall  be  the  good  luck  of 
all;  if  he  fervently  desire  that  they  shall  share  in  his 
rewards  who  could  not  share  in  his  toil ;  if  his  love 
shall  wisely  dispense  what  his  wisdom  concentrated;  if 
his  great  question  be,  not  how  shall  he  segregate,  but 
how  communicate  himself-— why,  then,  I  say,  happy  is 


THE  WONDERS  AND   WISDOM  OF  CARPENTRY.        79 

that  man.  He  is  a  radiating  centre  of  life  and  joy.  He 
is  rich,  but  be  binds  to  himself  the  poor  by  indissoluble 
bonds.  So  far  as  he  is  known  and  comprehended,  he 
is  beloved.  All  his  character  and  influence  are  given, 
unconsciously  perhaps,  but  effectively,  to  the  healing  of 
the  great  feud  between  high  and  low.  lie  does  not 
waste  time  in  sickly  patronage,  in  sentimental  charity, 
in  namby-pamby  attitudinizing;  but  is  his  hearty,  hon 
est,  cheery  self,  and  desires  every  man  to  be  the  same. 
He  strengthens  like  the  sun  by  his  own  free  and  natural 
shining.  lie  strengthens  not  so  much  by  supplying 
outward  prop  as  inward  power.  It  is  not  what  he  be 
stows  in  charity,  but  what  he  stimulates  by  sympathy 
and  sustains  by  inspiration.  It  is  not  hard  for  this  rich 
man  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.  He  is  there  al 
ready,  for -the  kingdom  of  God  is  within  him.  And  of 
such  is  that  kingdom. 


80  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 


V. 

SCIENCE,  PURE  AND  PRACTICAL. 

THERE  is  one  class  of  men  to  whom  every  one  seems 
inclined  to  give  whatever  they  ask,  and  that  is  the  men 
of  pure  science.  Every  one  is  aware  that  Professor 
Pierce  stands  at  the  head  of  all  living  mathematics  It 
is  not  necessary  to  know  what  he  is  up  to.  Probably 
not  a  dozen  people  in  the  world  do  know.  But  no  one 
has  any  doubt  that  mathematics  is  a  thoroughly  inno 
cent  calling.  You  open  his  book  which  represents  the 
last  results  that  his  science  has  yet  reached,  and  you  see 
a  manuscript  volnme  that  looks  very  much  like  the  ei- 
phering-books  which  the  boys  and  girls  used  to  make 
in  the  village  schools.  You  learn  to  your  astonishment 
that  the  product  of  two  factorially  homogeneous  ex 
pressions  which  does  not  vanish,  is  itself  factorialiy 
homogeneous,  and  its  faciend  name  is  the  same  with 
that  of  its  facient,  while  its  facient  name  is  the  same 
with  that  of  its  faciend.  You  arc,  of  course,  startled  by 
this  assertion,  but  you  are  somewhat  soothed  at  seeing 
it  followed  up  only  by  common-looking  "sums"  in  sim 
ple  addition,  agreeably  diversified  by  the  childish  game 
of  "  tit-tat-tay,"  or  an  occasional  inoffensive  equation. 
As  you  turn  leaf  after  leaf,  and  reflect  that  the  Presi 
dent  and  all  his  Cabinet,  that  the  General  Court  of  Mas 
sachusetts,  that  not  even  Caleb  Gushing  knows  enough 


SCIENCE,  PURE  AXD  PRACTICAL.  SI 

— I  do  not  say  to  write  such  a  book,  but  so  much  as 
to  read  it  after  it  is  written  —  you  can  only  exclaim, 
Allah  il  Allah!  The  glory  of  a  nation  which  can  pro 
duce  a  man  who  can  produce  a  book  that  nobody  can 
read !  Now,  when  such  a  man  says  to  Congress,  "  I 
wish  to  ascertain  what  the  results  will  be  if  K2  =  0; 
Give  me  an  appropriation  for  that  purpose,"  all  that 
Congress  need  reply  is,  "  How  large  an  appropriation  ?" 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars,"  says  my  mathematician,  for 
instance;  and  is  he  riot  worthy  of  it?  When  Professor 
Agassiz  says,  "  In  the  centre  of  the  South  American 
wilderness,  far  up  the  Amazon,  I  suspect  there  is  a  fish 
an  eighth  of  a  millionth  of  an  inch  long,  which  I  have 
never  seen,  and  which,  if  he  is  the  beast  I  take  him  to 
be,  will -fill  the  gap  that  yawns  in  my  ichthyological 
chain  ;  will  you  please  send  me  thither  in  a  squadron?" 
we  would  have  him  sent  instantly,  horse,  foot,  and  dra 
goons.  To  be  sure,  most  of  us  would  not  know  that 
fish-bone  from  any  plebeian  trout's  anatomy,  and  can 
not  see  in  the  least  of  what  consequence  it  is  whether 
K3  equals  0  or  not;  but  that  is  the  beauty  of  it.  In  a 
country  so  bent  as  ours  on  material,  tangible  products, 
it  is  a  wholesome  corrective  to  have  here  and  there  a 
man  who  loves  a  fish  for  the  fish's  own  sake,  and  not 
for  its  weight  at  the  fish-flakes  or  its  profits  at  the  pro 
vision  stores.  We  shall  never  pre-empt  the  North  Pole 
if  we  find  it,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  know  that  there  is  a 
North  Pole.  Commerce  can  serve  itself  very  little  of 
the  North-west  Passage,  but  much  is  gained  when  we 
have  learned  that  we  can  not  use  it. 

And,  after  all,  the  uselessness  of  scientific  research  is 


82  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

but  a  pleasing  dream.  In  fact,  the  results  of  science 
seem  to  be  the  basis  of  art.  You  may  scorn  Professor 
Agassiz's  fishes,  but  they  will  be  sure  to  rise  up  in  judg 
ment  against  you.  You  may  give  the  cold  shoulder  to 
Professor  Pierce's  K3  and  O's,  but  it  is  an  algebraical 
.romance.  Stars  rise  and  set,  suns  fire  and  fade,  accord 
ing  to  those  inflexible  little  letters.  Of  no  consequence 
whether  K"  does  or  does  not  equal  O !  Why,  if  K" 
were  greater  than  O,  yonder  madcap  of  a  comet,  that  is 
content  now  to  give  us  a  frisky  flirt  with  his  tail,  would 
let  drive  at  us  head  first,  and  shoot  through  us  like  a 
bullet,  sending  the  wounded  earth  staggering  up  against 
Mars,  which,  in  -its  turn,  would  fall  into  Jupiter,  which 
would  at  once  break  up  the  rings  of  Saturn,  like  any 
honest  Internal  Kevenue  Commissioner;  or  perhaps  the 
earth  would  shatter  into  ten  thousand  little  pocket 
earths,  scampering  around  among  the  dignified  planets 
like  snow-flakes  in  a  whirlwind;  and  then  what  be 
comes  of  your  appropriation  bills?  No,  my  country 
men,  unless  you  want  the  whole  solar  system  to  go  to 
pieces,  you  will  do  well  to  give  Professor  Pierce,  and 
nil  other  wise  men,  ample  room  and  verge  enough  to 
cipher  out  their  O  K's  in  peace  and  quietness. 

They  say  that  men.  of  science  have  their  little  tiffs 
like  men  of  nescience.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  it.  Im 
agine  the  provocation  that  could  cause  hot  blood  over  a 
factorially  homogeneous  idemfaciend,  vanishing  at  that! 
Fancy  a  falling  out  between  the  jaw  of  an  ichthyosaurus 
and  the  thigh-bone  of  a  megatherium !  And  how  un 
wise  to  let  your  angry  passions  rise  over  the  proprietor 
ship  of  any  discovery,  when  your  Great  Falls  hiero- 


SCIENCE,  PURE  AXD  PRACTICAL.  gg 

glyphs  were  photographed  off  a  shingle  in  Philadelphia, 
and  your  Cardiff  Giant  was  buried  between  two  days! 
Surely  science  does  not  tend  to  petty  disputations.  She 
goes  off  on  a  false  scent  sometimes,  but  her  search  is  al 
ways  for  truth.  She  deals  with  realities.  She  explores 
the  eternal  records.  All  things  of  to-day  are  flitting 
compared  with  the  ages  whose  trace  she  seeks  with  un 
tiring  eye.  Nothing  is  unimportant,  for  the  little  as 
well  as  the  great  has  left  its  foot-prints  in  the  rocks. 
The  vestiges  of  creation  are  the  patter  of  the  rain-drops 
as  well  as  the  tread  of  leviathan.  Selfishness  and  small- 
ness  are  lost  in  this  noble  pursuit  of  the  great,  the  van 
ished,  the  silent  unknown. 

And  yet  when  Paul  so  heartily  counsels  Timothy  to 
avoid  profane  and  vain  babblings,  and  oppositions  of 
science  falsely  so  called,  the  unregenerate  heart  within 
us  thrills  responsive  in  spite  of  our  loyalty  to  Professor 
Pierce.  Remembering  how  much  we  have  painfully 
learned,  only  to  be  required  painfully  to  unlearn,  what 
would  be  left,  we  dubiously  ask,  if  out  of  our  science 
should  be  taken  all  that  which  is  falsely  so  called. 

"Why  does  the  bill  hit  upon  ninety-five  millions?" 
asked  one  Representative  of  his  neighbor,  when  Con 
gress  was  discussing  a  bill  for  the  Extension  of  the  Cur 
rency. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply,  "  unless  because  the 
earth  is  ninety -five  millions  of  miles  from  the  sun — dol 
lar  a  mile." 

Is  not  a  great  deal  of  our  scientific  lore  similarly  val 
uable?  The  ocean,  say  the  wise  men,  grows  denser  and 
denser  the  deeper  you  dive,  till  it  upbears  every  burden, 


84  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXON. 

and  the  lost  ships  and  the  dead  men  sink  no  more,  but 
lie  unresting  on  its  unquiet  bosom.  And  when  you 
have  assimilated  and  survived  the  horror  of  this  awful 
sepulchre,  another  prophet  arises,  and  proclaims  and 
proves  that  as  the  ocean  grows  more  dense,  compressed 
are  all  things  cast  into  its  depths.  So  the  ships  go  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  the  dead  men  lie  tranquil 
ly  in  coral  caverns  and  grottoes  more  beautiful  than  art 
can  sculpture,  and  there  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep. 
Under  the  lead  of  the  wise  men,  we  have  peopled  all 
the  whirling  worlds.  We  have  aimed  at  the  moon  with 
our  telescopes — we  have  even  measured  out  to  the 
moon-men  the  size  of  the  smallest  tower  we  would  con 
descend  to  look  at,  and  have  told  them  where  to  place 
it  if  they  wish  us  to  see  it.  And  now,  lo!  the  moon- 
men  have  the  laugh  on  us,  for,  say  the  astronomers,  they 
struck  their  tents  ages  ago  as  silently  as  Washington 
stole  away  from  Long  Island,  and  left  only  a  scarred, 
sullen,  deserted,  irreparable  ruin,  which  we  have  all  this 
time  been  staring  at  as  the  happy  home  of  our  nearest 
neighbors ! 

But  perhaps  the  astronomers  of  the  next  age  will 
bring  them  back  again ! 

In  the  warm  and  pleasant  weather,  lingering  under 
the  apple-trees,  that  have  busily  and  cheerfully  repaired 
the  ravages  of  the  canker-worm ;  lounging  on  the  thick 
and  verdant  turf,  which  in  mid-August  is  green  with  the 
greenness  of  June;  watching  between  the  leaves,  scarce 
astir,  the  deep  blue  sky  from  which  the  swift,  incessant 
lightning  has  burned  every  speck  of  vapor,  every  trace 
of  impurity,  we  are  easily  won  over  to  a  fierce  and  sav- 


SCIENCE,  fUJtE  AND  PRACTICAL.  85 

age  summer.  But  fierce  and  savage  some  summers  are, 
though  on  this  sunny  noonday  it  roars  us  so  gently 
that  we  forget  how  angrily  storms  may  thunder  along 
the  months,  rumbling,  rattling,  crashing,  day  and  night. 
Who  can  unfold  the  trouble  in  the  skies  ?  If  a  change 
is  accomplishing  in  the  surface  of  the  sun,  do  the  sun- 
dwellers  know  it?  How  much  alteration  can  the  spheres 
stand  without  suffering?  We  have  been  all  our  lifetime 
subject  to  bondage,  through  fear  of  the  comets  that  were 
careering  through  the  heavens ;  and  now,  it  seems,  we 
have  been  hit  a  thousand  times,  and  never  knew  it !  A 
saucy  comet  whioks  its  tail  in  our  faces,  and  we  do  not 
so  much  as  wince.  It  dashes  head  foremost  against  the 
steady-going  earth,  and  we  only  say,  "  What  a  lovely 
haze  of  Helvellyn  veils  the  hills  to-day  !"  Nay,  the  poor 
comet,  the  wild  water-sprite,  the  nnsouled  Undine  of  the 
skies,  fails  and  falters  and  falls  to  pieces,  and  we  feel  no 
shudder.  The  comet  that  was  expected  does  not  ap 
pear,  a  few  little  meteors  flash,  a  red-hot  stone  or  two 
drops  upon  our  globe — that  is  all  we  know.  Have  a 
thousand  such  comets  fallen  into  the  fiery  envelope  of 
the  sun  ?  Have  any  wandering  worlds  finally  given  up 
searching  far  their  lost  way,  and  dropped  exhausted  into 
the  photosphere,  adding  to  the  flame  that  warms  our 
world?  Certainly  something  has  stirred  the  solar  fire. 
We  know  it,  if  the  sun-folk  are  not  aware.  If  that  cen 
tral  orb  be  indeed  the  heaven  of  heavens,  its  happy 
denizens  feel  no  disturbance.  But  even  if  it  be,  like 
ours,  the  residence  of  a  race  that  is  as  yet  in  an  early 
stage  of  development,  perhaps  they  dw'ell  securely  on 
that  black  inner  sun  which  peeps  here  and  there  through 


86  TWELVE  MILES  F120JT  A  LEMOX. 

the  radiance,  and  which  we  call  sun-spots.  Does  the 
photosphere  turn  to  them  its  shady  side,  or  are  they  so 
organized  as  to  bask  in  the  photosphere  just  as  we  do, 
only  a  little  farther  off?  We  love  their  sunshine  nine 
ty-five  millions  of  miles  away.  Perhaps  they  take  their 
sun-baths  at  arms-length. 

But  we  may  add  in  an  aside,  they  must  be  more  easi 
ly  suited  than  we.  For  years  that  part  of  the  heavenly 
system  which  is  called  New  England  has  suffered  from 
drought.  When  the  celestial  influences  interfere  with 
my  butter-box,  I  know  it.  Long  time  the  cry  has  been  : 
''Can't  make  much  butter  this  year.  Pastures  so  dry, 
cows  all  dry  up."  Yesterday,  in  the  drenching  rain, 
came  the  familiar  chant :  "  Can't  make  much  butter  this 
year"  (I  pricked  up  my  ears).  "So  much  wet,  can't 
get  no  cream  on  the  milk !" 

Heave  your  magnificent  and  magnesian  billows,  oh! 
tumultuous  and  wrathful  sun;  fire  us  up  to  scorching 
point,  cool  us  with  sheets  of  rain,  purify  us  with  your 
lightnings,  and  deafen  us  with  your  thunders;  but  do 
not  flatter  yourself  that  you  can  conciliate  a  bold  yeo 
manry,  our  country's  pride.  We  have  cut  our  eye- 
teeth,  and  are  not  to  be  cajoled  by  a  thunder-shower. 
Nevertheless,  I  observe  that,  while  the  earth  remaineth, 
whatever  becomes  of  seed-time  and  harvest,  whether  the 
bow  be  set  in  the  cloud  or  whether  there's  no  rain  left 
in  heaven,  so  sure  as  Aurora  scatters  the  humid  shad 
ows  from  the  skies,  and  Saturday  rises  with  the  first 
•Eous,  so  sure  comes  my  butter,  yellow  and  sweet  and 
undiminished. 

But  the  thunder-showers  are  terrific.     If  we  were  liv- 


SCIENCE,  PUKE  AXD  PRACTICAL.  87 

ing  in  Central  America,  we  should  expect  lizards,  and 
centipedes,  and  tornadoes,  and  all  Central  American 
ways  and  weathers.  In  the  temperate  zone  we  count 
on  temperance,  and  have  not  schooled  ourselves  for  such 
license  of  the  heavens.  A  moderate  and  reasonable  tem 
pest,  corning  on  a  sultry  afternoon,  sending  its  compli 
ments  seasonably,  and  clearing  into  a  splendid  sunset 
and  a  starry  evening — this  we  make  up  our  minds  to, 
and  encounter  with  fortitude ;  but  to  have  a  cloud  drop 
down  plump  on  your  apple-trees,  stay  there  for  hours, 
go  pop,  pop,  pop,  like  a  Brobdignagian  pistol,  the 
whole  time,  then  disentangle  itself,  make  as  if  it  would 
sail  away,  and  so  lure  you  to  sleep,  only  in  an  hour  to 
be  awakened  by  a  rumble  and  a  grumble,  and  find  that 
rogue  of.  a  cloud  back  again  in  your  apple-trees,  pop, 
pop,  popping  his  pistol,  and  setting  your  room  alight 
with  red-and-blue  fire  for  a  week  at  a  time — why,  that 
is  another  thing! 

It  is  all  very  easy  to  take  a  spectroscope  and  tell  what 
the  universe  is  made  of,  which  nobody  can  deny.  You 
may  speak  great  swelling  words  of  progress,  and  ex 
pound  the  thunder-storms  in  sesquipedalian  dialect,  dis 
turb  the  photosphere,  and  throw  up  oceans  of  magne 
sium  around  the  sun,  to  account  for  our  thermometer 
gone  mad.  You  may  announce  as  authoritatively  as 
you  please  that  the  smallest  spot  on  the. sun  is  fifty  bill 
ions  of  miles  in  diameter,  or  that  Neptune  consists  chief 
ly  of  hydrocianic  acid,  and  I  can  only  make  great  eyes 
at  you,  and  get  my  living  by  day's  work  all  the  same, 
while  you  go  up  and  down  in  the  newspapers  for  a  sa- 
tj  become  an  honorary  member  of  all  the  learned 


88  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

societies,  and  wag  a  tail  to  your  name  twenty  letters 
long.  But  when  it  comes  to  practical  availability,  it  is 
your  turn  to  make  great  eyes.  When  leaving  the  stars 
and  the  gases,  central  fires  anil  supreme  ether,  we  de 
scend  into  the  region  of  human  life  and  observation,  sci 
ence  shows  a  frightful  tendency  to  wabble.  If  she  can  not 
invent  a  lightning-rod  strong  enough  to  keep  us  from 
being  thunderstruck,  and  if  we  are  to  have  our  houses 
burned  over  our  heads  in  broad  daylight  by  the  unkno\vu 
incendiaries  of  the  spheres,  what  has  she  to  boast  of? 

The  main  fact  we  all  know.  Lightning  will  follow 
the  path  of  least  resistance.  It  is  a  lazy  fellow,  for  all 
its  wild  ways.  It  is  no  pioneer,  and  never  goes  off  in 
a  tangent  unless  obliged  to  do  so.  If,  then,  you  will 
make  for  it  a  highway  from  the  waters  which  are  above 
the  firmament  to  the  waters  which  are  under  the  fir 
mament,  you  may -reckon  on  its  peaceful  transit.  But 
practically  there  are  so  many  toll-gates  on  this  turnpike 
that  it  amounts  to  a  closed  road.  If  the  iron  track 
stops  short  of  the  nether  waters,  you  are  but  drawing 
the  lightning  on  your  own  head.  Nay,  even  a  fulling 
leaf,  they  tell  us,  lodged  against  the  rod,  will  throw  the 
electric  train  from  the  track,  to  scatter  ruin  through  the 
house.  So  it  stands: 

1.  A  perfect  lightning-rod  is  a  perfect  safeguard. 

2.  A  perfect.lightning-rod  is  next  to  an  impossibility. 

3.  An  imperfect  lightning-rod  invites  the  fluid.    Oh  ! 
where  shall  rest  be  found? 

In  the  meeting-house,  says  the  man  of  science;  but 
ho  is  also  a  clergyman,  and  his  testimony  is  without 
weight,  because  under  bias.  He  says  that  churches  are 


SCIENCE,  PURE  AND  PRACTICAL.  89 

never  struck;  and,  when  accused  of  "shop,"  explains 
that  the  spires  act  as  conductors,  and  that  high  houses 
in  thickly-settled  cities  are  always  exempt.  I  question 
his  premises;  but  the  world  is  wide,  and  I  can  not  at 
this  moment  disprove  his  negative.  I  know  there  was 
once  a  village  set  on  a  rock,  and  the  professor  of  science 
made  allegation  that  it  never  had  been,  and  never  could, 
would,  or  should  be  thunderstruck,  by  reason  of  its 
position ;  and  before  the  young  summer  was  old,  down 
came  a  thunder-bolt  and  shivered  his  theory  to  atoms. 

Let  the  lightning  play  its  fantastic  tricks,  says  an  ig 
norant  but  devout  believer;  we  shall  yet  discover  its 
secret.  The  world  long  suspected  itself  to  be  going 
round.  It  was  left  for  our  later  days  to  prove  it  by  the 
greater  wear  of  the  eastern  rail  on  all  railroads  running 
north  and  south.  As  the  earth  is  constantly  whirling 
from  west  to  -east,  of  course  it  throws  the  train  more 
heavily  on  the  eastern  rail,  and  Wisdom  is  justified  of 
her  children. 

But  meanwhile  the  unwearied  lightning  gleams  on, 
just  as  fresh  each  day  as  if  it  were  then  flashing  its 
first  fury.  And  the  violently  fearsome  betake  them 
selves  to  feather-beds,  and  fall  ill  with  irresistible  ter 
ror  ;  and  the  less  affected  lie  on  sofas,  and  try  to  read ; 
and  even  the  dreadnaughts  sit  quietly  and  count  one, 
two,  three  between  the  flash  and  the  report;  and,  just 
as  you  begin  to  think  the  worst  is  over,  and  Faint-heart 
ventures  to  leave  the  feather-bed  and  gaze  wistfully 
from  the  window  for  light  in  the  west,  flash  go  the  skies 
again,  crack  goes  the  pistol,  and  back  darts  the  deer  to 
her  trusted  covert. 


90  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

I  Lave  a  chimney  which  I  would  fain  convert  into  a 
cistern,  and  I  call  in  vain  upon  the  learned,  far  and 
near,  to  answer  rne  the  simple  question :  How  many 
cisterns  of  water  can  there  be  in  a  box  as  big  as  a  brick 
chimney  torn  down  ?  Response  is  none,  for  the  ques 
tion  is  a  practical  one.  You  can  measure  the  sun,  hit 
or  miss.  A  few  millions  of  miles,  more  or  less,  will 
never  be  detected;  but  if  my  water-works  run  dry,  ruin 
and  disgrace  impend.  You  do  well  not  to  commit 
yourself. 

So,  as  the  farmer  said  to  his  boys,  I  will  even  try  it 
myself.  We  boast  of  our  educational  facilities  in  Amer 
ica,  nor  need  we  fear  the  bigot's  rule  while  near  the 
church  spire  stands  the  school,  and  all  that.  I  am  an 
American  citizen,  and  surely  1  ought  to  be  able  to  ci 
pher  out  a  cistern  with  the  bricks  before  me.  I  wanted 
it  eight  feet  long,  eight  feet  wide,  and  six  feet  deep. 
But  then  came  a  drought,  and  I  deepened  it  two  feet. 
Then,  as  the  drought  grew  sore,  I  extended  my  cistern 
in  my  mind's  eye,  Horatio,  two  feet  in  all  directions, 
and  then  the  man  came  and  said  he  made  them  round 
after  the  similitude  of  a  pot.  Very  well.  In  our  en 
lightened  age  and  free  country,  we  ought  not  to  find  it 
impossible  to  put  a  round  man  in  a  square  place,  and 
the  problem  was  to  make  a  round  cistern  big  enough  to 
hold  ten  feet  long,  ten  feet  wide,  and  ten  feet  deep. 
Come  up,  now,  common  schools,  free  institutions,  man 
hood  suffrage,  and  tell  me  how  big  it  must  be.  I  take 
down  Greenleaf's  arithmetic.  Seventeen  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  inches  make  one  foot.  Plain  sailing.  Is 
there  any  thing  anywhere  that  tells  how  many  gallons 


SCIENCE,  PURE  AND  PRACTICAL.  91 

to  a  foot?  Yes,  ale  gallon,  two  hundred  and  eighty- 
two;  wine  gallon,  two  hundred  and  thirty-one.  But 
my  cistern  is  not  to  hold  ale,  and  I  am  no  Duke  of 
Clarence  to  drown  myself  in  Malmsey  wine.  What  I 
want  to  know  is  how  many  gallons  of  water  can  I  get 
into  my  round  cistern  ten  feet  square,  and  Greenleaf 
does  not  know;  and  as  for  making  a  globe  out  of  a 
cube,  Greenleaf  stares  at  it  precisely  as  Sam  Weller 
stared  at  his  father  in  the  court-room — that  is,  he  looks 
the  other  way.  You  would  think  he  never  heard  of  a 
cube  or  a  globe. 

The  ages  of  hapless  infancy  that  we  have  all  lavished 
on  arithmetic  might  well  draw  tears  such  as  angels 
weep,  and  the  very  first  time  in  my  life  that  arithmetic 
had  an  opportunity  to  be  of  use  to  me,  it  all  dropped 
apart.  It  is  an  ingenious  enough  science  to  torment 
innocent  and  helpless  children  with,  but  it  can  not  build 
a  cistern.  I  must  toss  my  mathematics  aside,  lay  off 
my  garland  and  singing  robes,  go  down  meekly  to  my 
waiting  workmen,  and,  instead  of  the  scientific  formula 
with  which  I  had  intended  to  awe  them,  say  like  a 
dullard,  "  Keep  digging  till  you  have  made  a  hole  big 
enough  to  put  all  the  bricks  in  out  of  the  chimney, 
which  is  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  old,  and  large  in 
proportion." 

And  I  have  a  beautiful  cistern,  no  thanks  to  science, 
but  there  is  nobody  in  the  heavens  above,  or  the  earth 
beneath,  or  the  waters  under  the  earth,  not  even  the 
men  that  made  it,  who  can  tell  how  large  it  is.  With 
Universities,  and  Smithsonians,  and  Polytechnic  Insti 
tutes  in  full  blast,  the  only  way  to  measure  off  your  cis- 


92  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

tern  is  to  build  a  cbimne}7",  and  then  knock  it  down  and 
count  the  bricks.  And  we  prate  of  Science ! 

But  Paul  and  I  add  under  our  breath,  "  Falsely  so 
called." 

I  should  like-  to  know,  too,  if  there  is  any  person 
within  the  memory  of  men  still  living  who  has  not 
supped  full  of  the  horrors  resulting  from  using  lead 
pipes.  If  we  are  to  believe  the  books,  Eve's  apple  was 
an  innocent  and  harmless  thing  compared  with  a  bit  of 
lead  pipe.  Disease  dwelt  in  the  outer  darkness  till  she 
was  conducted  into  our  world  through  a  lead  pipe. 
Science  can  not  build  me  a  cistern,  but  she  can  poison 
all  the  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  it.  Long  ago  we 
heard  and  received  into  devout  and  believing  hearts  all 
the  scaring  stories,  and  rejoiced  in  our  old-fashioned  but 
wooden  pump,  and  ascribed  our  vigor  and  health  to 
pure,  fresh  water,  till  one  day  the  pump  was  taken  up 
to  be  mended,  and  lo,  like  Milton's  Sin,  it  was  no  wood 
en  pump  at  all,  but  only  seemed  wooden  to  the  floor 
and  fair,  but  ended  foul,  in  a  lead  pipe ! 

So  then,  after  ascertaining  that  in  spite  of  years  of 
poisoning  we  still  lived,  the  old  pump  was  thrown  aside 
and  a  new  one  bought,  with  galvanized  iron  pipe,  de 
vised,  commended,  and  recommended  by  wise  men  of 
the  East  as  safe  and  salubrious.  Ko  rust  could  corrode 
it  nor  poison  distill  from  it,  and  we  drank  that  our  souls 
might  live.  Now  comes  up  Science  again  with  a  som 
ersault,  as  cheery  as  if  she  had  never  missed  the  mark, 
and  warns  us  if  there  is  any  one  thing  more  deleteri 
ous  and  deadly  than  anpther  it  is  galvanized  iron,  for 
whereas  ordinarily  the  poison  is  an  incident  to  the  pipe, 


SCIENCE,  PUJIE  AND  PRACTICAL.  93 

this  pipe  sets  to  work  with  double  forces  to  make  poi 
son.  Go  to.  We  be  all  dead  men. 

"But  oh  I"  mouths  Science,  with  no  accession  of  mod 
esty,  "  we  have  discovered  something  altogether  won 
derful.  Lead  is  fatal  and  galvanized  iron  deadly,  but 
if  you  will  fill  lead  pipes  with  the  warm,  concentrated 
solution  of  sulphide  of  sodium  till  it  forms  an  insoluble 
sulphide  of  lead,  they  will  be  perfectly  harmless." 

They  will,  will  they?  For  how  long?  By  day  after 
to-morrow  you  would  set  us  all  digging  out  the  insolu 
ble  sulphide  of  lead  as  the"  arch-poison  of  the  whole 
solar  and  human  system.  Away  with  your  pipes  and 
your  poisons,  and  let  us  go  back  to  the  old  oaken 
bucket  that  has  no  nonsense  about  it.  I  suppose  one 
can  swallow  a  rope  if  he  likes  and  nobody  hurt.  Or 
will  you  tell  us  presently  that  the  combination  of  the 
hempenate  of  oakum  with  the  hydrogen  of  water  forms 
a  hyper-hempehj'drate  utterly  destructive  to  the  cere 
bral  tissues,  the  cordic  ganglia,  and  the  body  politic  gen 
erally  ? 

When  Science  knows  her  own  mind,  it  will  be  time 
enough  for  her  to  des-matize  about  our  bodies.  Until 

o  o 

then,  we  of  the  Ignorami  may  as  well  rest  assured  that 
men  have  died  and  worms  have  eaten  them,  but  not  for 
lead,  and  cultivate  the  cheerful  spirit  of  that  incredulous 
mother  in  a  certain  rural  Israel,  who,  when  condoled 
with  for  a  supposed  liver  complaint,  replied  heartily, 
"  I  don't  know  but  my  liver  and  my  lights  is  both  gone ; 
but  if  they  be  I  don't  know  it!" 


94  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 


VI. 

AMERICAN  INVENTION'S. 

THERE  lives  a  man,  swollen  with  spiritual  pride,  who 
has  traveled  along  my  water-pipes  deep  down  into  the 
valley  of  humiliation.  From  the  beginning  he  looked 
with  the  calm,  exasperating  eye  of  supercilious  scorn 
upon  plans  and  accomplishments.  "  Water-works  are 
vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,"  was  the  burden  of  his 
song.  "A  house  with  modern  improvements  is  the 
Tantalus  of  civilization.  You  bought  a  bread-kneader 
once,  and  it  took  longer  to  clean,  the  thing,  after  you 
had  used  it,  than  it  did  to  knead  and  bake  the  bread." 

"No,  Hassan,  I  only  looked  at  it  and  wanted  to  buy 
it,  but  did  not,  because  }*ou  ridiculed  it  so." 

"You  will  find  that  it  will  cost  about  as  much,  in 
care  and  money,  to  keep  }-our  hydraulics  going  as  it 
will  to  keep  a  horse.  There  will  always  be  something 
bursting,  or  something  clogged,  or  something  running 
over,  or  something  giving  out.  You  will  have  to  watch 
it  as  closely  as  a  two-year  old  baby ;  and  your  attempt 
to  fetch  water  out  of  thtft  rock  into  this  house  will  be 
like  running  two  miles  to  catch  a  horse  to  ride  one.  I 
am  not  surprised  at  your  determination  to  ruin  your 
self,  but  I  am  surprised  that  you  show  no  originality  in 
the  mode.  You  are  simply  ruining  yourself,  precisely 
as  thousands  have  done  before  vou." 


AMERICAN  INVENTIONS.  95 

"  What  a  throng  of  many  words,  my  friend  Hassan, 
drunk  with  beer,  hast  thou  spoken,"  says  Beowalf,  in 
the  old  Saxon  poem. 

But  when  the  work  was  done,  when  this  unhappy 
man  was  bidden  to  mark  how  wisely  I  had  guarded 
against  frost  and  famine,  against  surplus  and  check, 
how  winsomely  Undine  was  to  be  my  nimble  hand 
maiden,  and  how  deftly  fire  and  water  had  been  pressed 
into  my  service — oh!  then  did  not  he  hang  back  and 
seek  to  change  the  subject,  and  look  over  his  shoulder 
for  something  to  create  a  diversion?  A  man  does  so 
hate  to  give  in !  And  when  the  sharp  winter  came 
upon  us  like  a  strong  man  armed,  and  I  rose  in  the 
morning  to  find  an  icicle  protruding  from  every  little 
silver  pipe,- 1  confess  I  had  misgivings  myself;  but  as 
siduous  nursing,  with  flannels  and  hot  water,  soon  re 
moved  the  difficulty,  and  care  and  sagacity  prevented 
its  recurrence ;  and  Hassan  the  Turk  is  ready  to  gnaw 
his  heart  out  with  remorse,  because  nothing  has  occurred 
to  justify  his  gloomy  forebodings,  or  to  make  my  sj's- 
tem  of  irrigation  any  thing  but  an  unmitigated  and, 
after  the  first  outlay,  an  inexpensive  blessing.  Let  no 
body  be  deterred  from  bringing  water  into  his  house 
by  fears  of  failure  and  perplexity.  You  might  just 
as  well  stop  the  circulation  of  blood  in  the  body  be 
cause  it  is  subject  to  derangement,  as  to  refuse  the  circu 
lation  of  water  in  the  house  because  now  and  then  a  pipe 
overflows,  and  your  frescoes  are  ruined.  Good  work 
men  will  prevent  such  accident;  but  if  they  can  not, 
give  up  your  frescoes;  do  not  give  up  your  life-blood. 
When  I  see  the  farm-houses,  the  dairies,  the  kitchens, 


96  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

whose  only  source  of  supply  is  the  well  in  the  yard  or 
the  hogshead  at  the  backdoor,  and  think  how  life  would 
be  lengthened  and  sweetened  if  all  this  heavy,  and  hard, 
and  slow  water-bringing  could  be  supplanted  by  the 
turn  of  a  screw,  I  wonder  that  we  do  not  manage 
to  introduce  it  somehow  into  our  marriage  contracts. 
What  an  increase  of  vital  force  would  ensue ;  what  a 
diminished  demand  for  divorce;  what  a  strengthening 
and  upbuilding  of  the  family  baud,  if  a  girl  should 
refuse  to  marry  until  there  was  an  inexhaustible  sup 
ply  of  water,  at  least  in  the  kitchen.  A  house  without 
water- works  ought  to  be  considered  as  incomplete  as  a 
house  without  doors,  and  as  incomplete  in  the  country 
as  in  the  city. 

It  is  said  that  women  can  not  invent,  even  in  matters 
that  concern  themselves.  Not  only  the  cotton-gin,  but 
the  sewing-machine  is  the  device  of  the  masculine  brain. 
Man  has  to  plan  the  very  tools  with  which  women  does 
her  work.  Very  likely.  And  after  he  has  planned 
them,  he  ought  to  use  them.  The  very  fact  that  a  man 
invented  the  flat-iron  is  prima  facie  evidence  that  he 
ought  to  do  the  ironing.  "  Labor,"  Mr.  Wendell  Phillips 
is  reported  to  have  said,  "is  entitled  to  all  it  creates;" 
let  labor,  then,  run  its  own  sewing-machines  and  turn 
its  own  mangles.  Influence  is  greater  than  invention; 
and  in  in3uence  women  are  as  strong  as  men.  Thus  I 
admire  the  inventions  of  men  on  the  nil  admirari  prin 
ciple.  It  is  a  good  thing  for  a  man  to  do,  but  it  does 
not  bring  him  up  to  the  level  of  a  woman.  Having  in 
vented  all,  he  is  but  an  unprofitable  servant,  and  has 
not  done  half  that  which  it  is  his  duty  to  do.  Still  I 


AMERICAN  INVENTION'S.  97 

am  glad  he  has  done  something.  And  when  skill  and 
ingenuity  are  united  with  modesty,  they  form  a  com 
bination,  and  produce  a  result  which  the  highest  need 
not  scorn. 

"I  have  got  something  at  home  I  should  like  to  put 
up  in  your  kitchen,  before  your  carpenters  are  through," 
said  my  friend  the  Churchman.  I  smiled  benignly,  not 
having  the  smallest  premonition  that  I  was  entertaining 
an  angel  unawares.  But  it  was  even  so.  The  "some 
thing"  proved  to  be  an  apotheosized  clothes-horse,  "the 
Dryad, "as  it  has  been  christened  by  Hassan  the  Turk. 
Every  one  knows  the  old-time  clothes-horse  that  stood 
by  the  kitchen  stove,  cumbrous,  and  always  in  the  way. 
The  Dryad  consists  of  three  long  poles,  an  assortment 
of  wheels  and  pulleys,  a  cord  and  tassels,  a  porcelain 
knob,  a  gold  ring,  and  a  bracket  or  two.  The  greater 
part  of  it  is  at  the  ceiling.  When  it  is  not  in  use,  it  is 
all  at  the  ceiling,  except  the  knob,  and  ring,  and  cord, 
and  tassels,  which  cheerfully  ornament  the  window. 
When  the  clothes  are  ready  to  be  placed  upon  it,  the 
ring  is  slipped  from  the  knob,  and  the  Dryad  glides 
.gracefully  down  within  reach.  A  little  pull  on  the 
cords,  and  she  glides  gracefully  back  to  her  native 
skies,  bearing  her  snowy  blossoms.  There  they  bloom 
on  high  till  they  are  ready  to  be  plucked  for  the  bu 
reau  drawers,  and  in  the  warm  air  of  those  upper  re 
gions  their  dampness  is  won  away  or  ever  you  are 
aware,  and  they  can  be  removed  so  speedily  that  there 
is  small  chance  of  spot,  or  stain,  or  smoke  ;  nor  can  the 
frisking  kitten,  by  never  so  great  leaps,  pull  the  clear 
starched  muslin?,  for  playthings,  to  the  floor;  nor  do 

5 


98  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

your  Turks  ever  run  against  them  in  the  dark;  and 
moreover,  it  is  always  there  ready  to  your  hand.  As 
its  value  gradually  dawned  upon  me,  I  wondered  I  had 
never  seen  one  before,  and  that  all  the  kitchens  of  the 
world  were  not  supplied  with  what  no  gentleman's 
library  should  be  without.  While  I  was  musing,  the 
fire  burned,  and  I  summoned  the  Churchman,  and  ask 
ed  him, 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  Dryad?" 

Why,  it  was  one  he  had  at  home. 

"  But  where  did  you  get  it  ?  Where  did  you  buy  it? 
Who  made  it?  Where  does  the  sun  arise  on  such  an 
other?" 

Well,  the  man  hesitated,  and  coughed,  and  finally 
owned  to  having  invented  it  himself! 

The  trouble  with  my  town  is  its  modest}*.  We  are 
brimful  of  talent,  but  we  hide  it  under  a  bushel.  Gov 
ernors  come  down  here,  and  by  quietly  using  their  eyes, 
learn  how  to  govern.  The  world  has  hitherto  dragged 
its  stones  on  a  drag.  We  elevate  our  drag,  depending 
it  from  a  pair  of  old  wheels  in  front,  and  resting  it  on 
trucks  behind,  and  save  great  stores  of  power;  but  we 
do  not  say  any  thing  about  it.  We  simply  do  it,  and 
men  who  have  been  parading  their  scientific  mechanics 
all  their  life  look  at  us  and  are  astonished.  When  our 
fellow-countrymen  entreat  us  to  serve  them  in  public 
offices,  we  leave  our  Happy  Valley,  take  up  the  cross  and 
go,  but  we  do  not  run  around  electioneering.  When 
a  new-comer,  unaware  of  our  delicacies  and  dignities, 
and  eager  to  secure  us  for  the  country,  and  perhaps, 
also,  to  evince  his  own  zeal  and  friendliness,  once 


AMERICAN  INVENTIONS.  99 

brought  down  from  the  great  city  its  city  ways,  and 
posted  at  night,  by  the  moon's  pale  beams,  a  score  of 
gigantic  handbills,  and  under  the  rising  sun  all  the 
trees  blossomed  in  frantic  adjurations — 

"  VOTE  FOR  MR.  BBOWN 

For  Secretary  of  State ; 

VOTE  FOR  MR.  JOXES 

For  Secretary  of  the  Treasury," 

the  consternation  of  Messrs.  Brown  and  Jones  was  ex 
treme.  Ask  people  to  vote  for  us!  Never!  We  will 
be  the  people's  spontaneous  choice,  or  we  will  not  be 
the  people's  at  all!  and  down  came  the  offending  hand 
bills  from  the  unconscious  trees  as  swiftly  and  as  stealth 
ily  as  if  they  had  been  the  proofs  of  a  forgery.  Wo 
thank  you  for  your  friendliness,  sweet  friends,  but  do 
not  compromise  our  dignity. 

And  here  comes  another  gen i as,  cheating  the  world 
by  his  miserable  modest}'.  lie  has  devised  a  machine 
which  every  one  admires,  but  he  has  no  agent,  never 
advertises  it,  takes  no  measure  whatever  to  introduce  it 
to  a  v/aiting  world.  If  I  insist  upon  having  one  for  a 
friend,  he  thinks  there  is  a  man  in  Boston  who  had  one 
in  his  shop  some  years  ago,  and  he  may  have  it  on  hand 
yet.  The  man  in  Boston  blithely  brings  out  various 
machines,  from  a  clothes-line  to  a  hat -rack,  and  pro 
nounces  each  one,  successively,  to  be  the  Dryad.  He 
does  not  even  remember  how  the  creature  looks,  but  is 
ready  to  take  oath  to  any  thing  for  the  sake  of  selling 
off  his  stock.  But,  happily,  I  have  seen  a  Dryad,  and 
can  not  be  deceived  into  accepting  a  dust-brush.  The 


100  TWL'LVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

Churchman,  under  strong  pressure,  finally  thinks  lie 
may  have  separate  pieces  enough  in  his  barn  to  con 
struct  a  whole  machine,  so  I  succeed  in  exporting  one; 
and  the  family  are  so  pleased  with  it  that  they  are  cur 
rently  reported  to  hang  the  cat  and  kittens  on  it  when 
they  have  been  out  in  the  rain.  But  an  ordinary  per 
son,  with  such  an  invention,  would  make  a  fortune, 
build  houses,  be  elected  mayor  of  the  metropolis,  and 
become  a  candidate  for  States'  Prison  in  six  months. 

In  building  a  house,  in  founding  a  home,  there  are 
two  things  wherein  it  is  not  well  to  economize — light 
and  heat  It  is  not  how  little  you  can  be  comfortable 
with,  but  how  much  }rou  can  secure.  You  may  argue 
that  you  occupy  but  one  or  two  rooms,  and  these  alone 
need  be  lighted.  But  immediately  you  want  a  book,  a 
picture,  a  bit  of  work  that  is  in  some  dark  and  distant 
apartment,  and  the  genial  current  of  your  soul  is  frozen. 
lie  who  reasons  is  lost.  There  is  no  safety  but  in  hav 
ing  your  whole  house  alight  and  aglow.  The  evening 
radiance  shall  be  as  pervading  as  the  broad  and  lavish 
sunshine.  It  has  its  own  charm.  Under  its  mild  and 
mellow  spell  you  feel  yourself  a  point  of  light  in  a  dark 
world — a  tiny,  fixed  star,  self-luminous  and  illumina 
ting.  The  faces  on  the  wall  grow  more  benign  and 
sympathetic.  They  are  no  longer  pictures,  but  souls, 
astir  with  love  and  memory.  All  familiar  colors  of  the 
day  blend  deep  and  rich  in  the  new  lights  and  shadows. 
Even  hard  outlines  soften  into  grace.  Friendliness  be 
comes  more  suave  and  free.  There  is  a  breath  of  dream 
land  in  the  air,  and  far  off  and  impossible  things  become 
near  and  real.  Is  it  only  gas,  after  all  ? 


AMERICAN  INVENTIONS  101 

But  in  the  country  we  have  spermaceti  and  kerosene 
for  all  our  inspiration ;  yet  we  ask  not  your  pity,  oh 
friend  from  the  city;  for  while  we  recognize  the  ease 
and  convenience  of  your  gaseous  inventions,  we  recog 
nize  also  their  disadvantages — disadvantage  of  leaky 
pipes,  and  noxious  smells,  and  tainted  air;  of  failures 
and  sudden  darkness,  and  flare  of  gas-jets  most  trying 
to  mortal  eyes.  We  look  at  the  bright  and  steady 
gleam  of  our  honest,  if  cumbrous  lamps,  and  thank 
Heaven  that  the  lines  have  fallen  to  us  in  pleasant 
places. 

The  fame  of  the  German  Student  Lamp  was  noised 
abroad  through  the  rural  districts  till  the  unsophisti 
cated  mind  could  but  infer  that  it  was,  on  the  whole, 
rather  an  improvement  on  the  sun,  cheaper  and  more 
congenial  to  the  eye.  Whereupon  the  unsophisticated 
mind  arose  and  \vent  to  the  city  on  a  tour  of  investiga 
tion,  and  discovered  that  inexhaustible  American  genius 
had  gilded  the  refined  gold  and  painted  the  lily  by  an 
invention  of  its  own,  called  the  American  Student  Lamp. 
The  German  was  good,  but  the  American  was  better. 
It  was  lacquer-work,  and  would  never  tarnish.  It  was 
various  other  things  that  would  never  become  apples 
of  Sodom  in  your  grasp.  Could  the  unsophisticated 
mind  hesitate?  Between  German  and  American,  can 
the  patriot's  choice  be  doubtful  ?  We  are  not  on  Tre- 
mont  Eow  or  Dock  Square;  we  are  on  Winter  Street, 
that  rendezvous  of  respectability  and  reliability.  Caesar 
is  above  suspicion,  and  his  wife  never  appears  behind 
the  counter.  AYe  buy  the  American  lamp;  we  are  fur 
nished  with  a  pamphlet  library  of  literature  bearing  on 


102  TW9LVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

its  mechanism  and  manipulation.     We  go  home  and 
prepare  to  illuminate. 

We  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  complete 
mastery  of  the  American  Student  Lamp  is  equal  to  a 
four  years'  course  of  study  at  the  Institute  of  Technol- 
ogj\  We  have  been  diligently  investigating  it  for 
eighteen  months,  with  short  and  infrequent  vacations, 
and  have  apparently  come  no  nearer  the  secret  place 
where  its  soul  abideth  than  we  were  at  the  beginning. 
It  is  spherical  trigonometry  carried  to  the  highest  pow 
er,  and  then  merged  in  total  depravity.  It  is  a  com 
bination  of  globes  and  chimneys  and  cylinders  and 
cork-screws,  appalling  to  the  natural  man.  It  is  one  of 
those  things  that  no  fellow  can  find  out.  There  is  a 
siphon  and  a  tank,  and  a  respirator,  and  an  aqueduct, 
and  a  series  of  tubes  more  incomprehensible  than  the 
wheel  in  the  middle  of  a  wheel  which  the  prophet  saw 
in  a  vision,  and,  like  that,  they  turned  not  when  they 
went,  and,  unlike  that,  they  went  not  when  they  turned. 
It  is  a'  a  muddle.  The  only  way  to  tell  when  the  lamp 
is  full  is  to  pour  till  it  runs  over.  The  entire  Faculty 
of  one  of  our  best  colleges  have  been  engaged,  from 
time  to  time,  in  putting  in  the  wick,  and  the  clergy 
have  done  every  thing  but  pray  over  it.  In  vain.  We 
took  the  lamp  and  the  family,  and  went  to  town.  The 
lamp  was  set  on  the  counter,  the  family  stationed  around 
it,  the  proprietor  summoned  and  bidden  to  "put  that 
wick  into  that  lamp."  His  knees  smote  together,  but 
he  said  he  would.  It  was  just  as  easy,  he  said.  Just 
slip  the  wick  on  this  cylinder  and  wind  a  silk  thread 
around  it,  so;  and  then  slip  the  silk  thread  and  wick 


AMERICAN  INVENTIONS.  103 

and  cylinder  into  another  cylinder,  so;  and  there  was  a 
hook  in  this  cylinder  and  a  groove  in  that  one,  so;  and 
the  hook  would  catch,  and  the  projection  would  go  into 
the  groove,  so;  and  every  thing  would  move  spirally  and 
smoothly,  so — only  the  wick  would  not  go  into  the  cyl 
inder,  and  the  projection  would  not  go  into  the  groove, 
and  the  hook  would  not  catch,  and  things  would  not 
move  at  all,  and  the  man's  fingers  trembled,  and  he 
wound  and  unwound,  and  screwed  and  unscrewed,  and 
jammed  and  pulled  with  nervous  haste,  white  we  stood 
around  gazing  in  grim  silence.  Nemesis  had  her  turn. 
By-and-by  the  wick  really  seemed  to  go  where  it  be 
longed.  At  least  it  did  not  go  anywhere  else,  and  the 
unhappy  man  took  out  his  bandanna  and  wiped  the 
beaded  agony  from  his  brow;  but  not  even  the  tor 
ture  he  had  undergone  could  extort  from  him  the  con 
fession  that  there  was  any  other  or  more  scientific  way 
of  putting  on  the  wick  than  the  one  he  had  just  ex 
hibited.  It  was  as  direct  as  the  Chinese  way  of  roast 
ing  pig  by  burning  the  sty ;  but  we  were  forced  to  be 
content,  and  went  home  rejoicing  that  life  might  be 
pleasant  while  that  wick  lasted,  which  he  said  would  be 
six  weeks  or  two  months. 

It  is  now  eighteen  months,  and  the  wick  has  never 
been  changed.  There  is  no  reason  why  it  ever  should 
be.  Who  buys  the  American  Student  Lamp  may  be 
sure  not  to  waste  his  substance  in  wicks,  for  there  is  no 
process  known  to  natural  history  by  which  the  lamp 
can  be  made  to  burn.  You  might  as  well  have  an 
American  student  in  the  room  for  all  the  light  you  get. 
We  cnllcd  friends  and  neighbors  to  rejoice  with  us  in 


104  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

this  new  flame,  and  when  it  was  finally  kindled  we 
went  into  the  street  to  see  the  illumination,  and  the 
lamp  was  out  before  we  were.  We  had  meant  to  grat 
ify  our  vanity  with  the  splendor  of  the  spectacle,  and  it 
was  necessary  to  fetch  a  candle  to  find  where  the  spec 
tacle  was. 

"And  while  the  lamp  holds  out  to  bun), 
The  vilest  sinner  may  return," 

gives  no  hope  to  us.  It  is  but  a  delusive  way  of  say 
ing  that  he  shall  never  return.  We  appealed  to  the 
seller.  He  exchanged  it,  but  change  of  lamp  is  not 
change  of  mind;  and  still  from  those  flames  no  light, 
but  rather  darkness,  visible.  He  proffered  still  further 
exchange ;  but  where  is  the  use  of  a  stream  of  lamps 
going  and  coming  from  the  shopman's  counter  to  a 
country  house  like  a  chain-pump?  We  appealed  to  the 
manufacturer,  whose  name  purported  to  be  Carleton. 
But  there  was  no  response.  I  do  not  believe  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  made  it  I  do  not  believe  there  is  any  Mr.  Carleton. 
The  Prince  of  Darkness  invented  this  lamp  of  his  own 
free-will,  to  entangle  the  souls  of  men,  and  a  respecta 
ble  New  England  firm  is  ready  to  abet  him. 

Then  the  lamp  began  to  leak,  and  the  library  table 
was  ruined.  Then  we  found  it  was  not  a  fatuitous,  but 
a  fore-ordained  leak.  An  aqueduct  is  diabolically  con 
trived  to  lead  the  oil  from  the  globe  where  it  is  sup 
posed  to  burn,  but  will  not,  into  a  tank  beneath,  where 
it  can  not  do  any  thing  but  drip  upon  the  table.  If 
time  be  taken  by  the  forelock,  this  submarine  tank  can 
be  unscrewed  and  emptied;  but  as  contemporary  history 
had  failed  to  make  mention  of  this  feature  of  the  ma- 


AMERICAN  INVENTIONS.  105 

chine,  the  tank  had  overflowed,  and  scattered  evil  odors, 
discoloration,  and  ruin.  As,  however,  even  if  the  lamp 
does  not  burn,  all  the  oil  will,  after  a  while,  leak  out, 
this  little  peculiarity  presently  ceases  to  be  trouble 
some. 

"We  love  the  American  Student  Lamp.  If  any  per 
son  is  fired  with  a  desire  to  let  his  light  shine  in  adversi 
ty,  we  have  an  adversity  ready  to  his  hand.  Whoever 
wants  a  lamp  of  excellent  manufacture  of  the  highest 
price,  bright  and  burnished,  and  warranted  not  to  burn, 
may  be  safely  recommended  to  the  American  Student 
Lamp.  As  a  safety-lamp  it  is  unparalleled.  Nothing 
short  of  nitro-glycerine  could  make  it  explode.  As  a, 
testimonial  of  affection,  it  is  more  economical  than  the 
Ball  and  Black  cases  which  inclose  dollar  jewelry  for 
wedding  presents.  At  every  Christmas  and  birthday 
festival  we  make  somebody  a  present  of  that  lamp.  It 
has  been  carried  to  donation-parties.  It  has  figured  at 
Calico  Balls.  It  has  been  sent  to  the  Chicago  sufferers. 
It  has  just  not  been  dropped  into  the  contribution-box. 
And  still, 

"In  that  house  of  misery, 
A  Lady  with  a  Lamp  I  see 
Pass  through  the  glimmering  gloom, 
And  flit  from  room  to  room." 

Finally,  we  sent  it  back  to  the  seller.  He  notified  us 
that  it  stood  on  his  counter  burning  all  day.  We  never 
tried  it  in  the  day-time.  As  a  general  thing,  the  rural 
districts  want  lamps  that  bum  at  night.  For  the  day 
and  the  counter,  doubtless  the  American  Student  Lamp 
is  invaluable;  but  for  the  evening  and  the  home,  we 

K* 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LElfOX. 

have  gone  back  to  candles  and  the  ancient  lamp,  and 
the  broad,  benignant  moon,  as 

"Full  she  flared  it,  lamping  Samniata." 

Sitting  iii  the  twilight,  we  muse  over  the  shortcom 
ings  of  our  country,  and  lament  the  hurry,  the  super 
ficiality,  the  lack  of  thoroughness,  the  high-sounding 
pretensions,  the  small  and  mean  achievements  which 
disfigure  our  life. 

"  "We  pride  ourselves  upon  our  ingenuity,"  says  one, 
'•and  we  devise  many  things.  But  you  can  depend 
upon  nothing.  Shop-keepers  mock  at  women  for  pre 
ferring  English  and  French  goods  to  those  of  Ameri 
can  manufacture,  and  call  it  fashion  and  snobbery,  and 
tell  tales  of  foreign  labels  on  American  goods,  and 
American  women  satisfied  in  consequence.  But  the 
truth  is,  the  foreign  fabrics  are  of  better  quality  than 
our  home  products.  Patriotic  people  will  even  pay  a 
higher  price  for  an  American  lamp  than  a  German  lamp, 
but  patriotism  itself  would  not  be  willing  to  spend  the 
remainder  of  its  natural  life  in  darkness  for  the  sake  of 
encouraging  home  manufacture.  The  Germans  are  a 
slow,  heavy,  plodding  race,  and  perhaps  do  not  turn  out 
so  many  lamps  a  day  as  we.  But  when  their  lamps  are 
turned  out,  they  burn." 

"But  it  so  happens,"  says  Hassan  the  Turk,  "that 
many  of  the  so-called  German  lamps  are  made  in  Amer 
ica.  What  then  ?" 

"Probably  they  are  the  German  lamps  that  catcli 
fire  and  are  thrown  into  the  street.  I  have  known  of 
such.  Probably  they  are  the  lamps  that  explode  and 
kill  their  owners.  I  have  read  of  such." 


AMERICAN  INYEXTIOXH.  107 

•'But  what  have  you  to  offer  in  proof  that  exploding 
lamps  are  of  American  manufacture,  and  the  non-ex 
ploding  of  foreign  ?'' 

"  Nothing  except  our  American  silks,  which  look  so 
stout  and  wear  so  shabby,  and  spot  with  water." 

"  But  when  you  buy  a  foreign  silk  you  take  your  life 
in  your  hands.  It  may  be  rep  and  lustrous  and  stocky, 
yet  break  and  be  nearly  worthless.  It  is  only  of  free 
grace  that  you  get  even  a  good  Bonnet  silk." 

"And  the  Chicago  pig  "  I  bethink  me  with  apparent 
inconsequence  but  real  logical  connection.  Chicago 
having  burned  up  the  greater  part  of  her  confident 
boasting,  had  nothing  to  show  the  Grand  Duke  but  her 
way  of  killing  pigs.  Alexis  watched  the  process,  so 
they  say,  with  the  imperturbability  which  doth  hedge 
a  king.  At  its  conclusion,  instead  of  going  into  rap 
tures  over  the  growth  of  Chicago  and  the  great  Amer 
ican  Eepublic,  he  quietly  asked,  "Can  you  take  a  live 
hog  and  turn  him.  into  sausage  in  ten  minutes?" 

"No,  we  don't  think  we  can  do  that,"  said  smiling 
Chicago,  falling  blandly  into  the  royal  trap. 

"They  do  in  Copenhagen, "said  his  Imperial  High 
ness,  the  Grand  Duke  Alexis. 

Poor  Chicago!  To  be  burned  by  fire  and  snubbed 
by  princes !  She  has  six  thousand  new,  first-class  houses, 
four  thousand  begun,  and  two  thousand  under  contract; 
but  what  doth  it  avail  her  so  long  as  this  Mordecai  sit- 
teth  at  the  king's  gate  making  sausages  faster  than  she? 
Poor  pig-packing  Chicago,  to  have  even  her  crown  of 
pork  plucked  from  her  scorched  young  brow!  No 
doubt,  as  she  thinks  of  the  stalwart  duke,  she  swears 


108  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOK 

eternal  hate  to  monarchical  institutions,  and  wishes  that 
many  more  might 

"Sleep 

Full  many  a  fathom  deep, 
By  thy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinore ! " 

With  the  morning  light  came  once  a  dreadful  revela 
tion.  The  dining-room  carpet,  the  new  Brussels  car 
pet  that  had  had  but  two  days'  wear  and  one  gentle 
sweeping,  was  developing  little  groups  of  scars,  little 
tufts  of  wool,  little  outbursts  of  rags,  as  if  some  one  had 
taken  a  pair  of  scissors  and  pulled  up  the  threads,  or  as 
if  rough  hob-nailed  boots  had  trodden  and  torn  it.  We 
watched  and  waited  in  consternation  two  days,  and  the 
little  constellation  thickened,  till  the  firmament  of  our 
floor  was  studded  with  these  baleful  stars. 

"  Moths !"  said  the  white  lips  of  dismay,  and  we  wrote 
at  once  to  the  sellers. 

Those  carpet-knights  made  answer  that  it  could  not 
be  moths,  and  must  be  hob-nailed  boots,  or  the  playful 
gambols  of  lap-dogs  or  sharp -clawed  kittens.  Yain 
conjecture,  when  there  were  neither  dogs,  cats,  nor  hob 
nailed  men  about  the  house.  We  summoned  workmen 
cunning  in  carpets.  They  said  the  little  ruffled  rags  and 
raveled  yarn-ends  were  owing  to  a  defect  in  the  man 
ufacture  ;  that  it  was  called  "  sprouting ;"  that  carpets 
were  sometimes  thus  defective,  but  that  no  manufac 
turer  of  repute  would  ever  let  such  carpets  go  into  the 
market. 

"You  may  depend  upon  it,"  said  a  loving  but  mis 
trustful  patriot,  "that  carpet  never  saw  an  English 


AMERICAN  INVENTIONS.  100 

loom.  It  is  the  work  of  some  shoddy  American  manu 
facturer,  palmed  off  upon  us  for  English.  He  shall  be 
brought  to  grief.  I  will  inquire  of  the  sellers  the  name 
of  the  English  manufacturers.  You  will  see  that  they 
will  evade,  and  will  not  give  it." 

Prompt  as  the  morning  came  the  answer,  "Hum 
phreys,  Kidderminster,  England !" 

"  That  looks  like  business,"  said  Hassan  the  Turk. 

But  we  determined  to  go  to  the  root  of  the  matter. 
A  protocol  was  immediately  prepared  for  these  dishon 
ored  subjects  of  her  majesty. 

"  We  regret  to  be  obliged  to  say,"  was  the  language 
of  the  joint  High  Commissioners,  "that,  much  as  we 
love  our  country,  we  are  not  surprised  at  any  imper 
fection  in  her  manufactures,  but  we  did  think  that  En 
glish  was  a  synonym  for  thorough.  In  our  circle,  when 
we  have  procured  English  goods,  we  account  ourselves 
to  have  acquired  the  best  of  its  kind.  But  if  England 
gives  out,  where  shall  patience  look  for  perfect  work? 
What  is  the  good  of  your  not  fighting  Prussia  if  you 
are  going  to  send  shabby,  shoddy  carpets  into  the  lit 
tle  rural  dining-rooms  of  America?  What  is  the  use 
of  earls  and  lords  sailing  around  the  world  to  settle 
Alabama  claims,  if  the  great  manufacturers  persist  in 
sowing  the  seeds  of  discord  under  our  feet?  Messrs. 
Merchants  offer  to  exchange  our  carpet,  but  how  shall 
we  know  that  another  carpet  will  not  also  develop 
vegetarian  tendencies?  And  what  shall  compensate 
us  for  the  trouble,  perplexity,  and  general  disturbance 
of  our  household  gods,  to  say  nothing  of  our  broken 
faith  in  English  fabric?  Be  sure  your  sprouting  car- 


1 10  TWEL  VE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

pets  will  grow  a  more  fatal  harvest  than  the  dragon's 
teeth !" 

The  most  casual  reader  will  see  that  there  is  a  high 
moral  tone  about  this  appeal  calculated  to  strike  the 
woolen  mind  with  awe.  Humphreys,  Kidderminster, 
were  evidently  impressed.  They  replied  that  they 
would  come  over  in  November  and  look  into  it.  In 
November  they  reported  themselves  in  Boston.  Did 
they  expect  a  free  American  citizen  to  put  his  carpet 
in  his  pocket  and  go  to  Boston?  Because  he  did  not, 
they  slipped  back  to  Kidderminster.  Justice  was  not 
to  be  thus  baffled,  and  again  stretched  her  hand  across 
the  briny  deep,  collared  Humphreys,  Kidderminster, 
and  bade  them  rise  and  explain !  They  made  some 
lame  excuse,  and  said  they  would  come  again  in  July 
and  thoroughly  investigate.  Perhaps  they  will;  but 
meanwhile  it  remains  that  an  old  English  house  of  es 
tablished  reputation  sends  into  the  market,  and  is  not 
careful  to  reclaim,  goods  that  would  do  discredit  to  the 
"smartest"  and  swiftest  and  shoddiest  firm  in  America. 
Why,  then,  should  we  monopolize  a  reputation  for  un 
substantial  fabrics?  We  are  a  country  of  magnificent 
distances,  and  comparatively  small  and  sparse  popula 
tion.  Our  haste  and  superficiality  are  born  not  of  our 
character,  but  of  our  necessities.  True,  that  way  danger 
lies,  but  the  encouraging  symptom  is  that  we  bear  our 
standard  high.  We  are  gradually  learning  to  do  well 
what  at  first  we  felt  compelled  to  do  quickly.  The 
Cheneys  are  never  content  with  a  piece  of  silk,  but  are 
ever  meditating  on  the  next,  and  give  the  mulberry - 
worni  no  rest.  Doubtless,  the  whole  pork-compelling 


AMERICAN  IXVESTIOXS.  Ill 

mind  of  Chicago,  since  the  visit  of  his  Imperial  High 
ness,  lias  been  directed  to  facilitating,  by  a  few  mo 
ments,  the  transmigrations  of  the  hog.  We  drive  along 
the  white,  hard  roads  between  the  hedge-rows  of  En 
gland,  and  think  of  the  rough  and  rugged  cart-tracks, 
slimy,  muddy,  dusty,  and  dented  with  treacherous  pits, 
that  are  sometimes  a  bond  and  sometimes  a  barrier  be 
tween  our  own  towns ;  but  our  roads  are  already  abreast 
\vith  our  other  victories.  It  is  no  small  thing  to  estab 
lish  even  an  imperfect  connection  between  the  shores 
of  a  continent.  It  would  be  Quixotic  and  extravagant, 
it  would  be  frivolous  and  pottering,  to  attempt  to  unite 
our  remote  cities,  our  straggling  villages,  by  such  high 
ways  as  England  can  not  afford  to  miss.  When  wealth 
and  leisure  and  social  life  have  reached  a  certain  point, 
they  overflow  in  Central  Park  drives  and  suburban 
Boston  roads  that  match  the  finish  of  merrie  England. 
But  England  herself  would  be  but  a  Central  Park  set 
down  in  the  midst  of  our  vast  American  territory. 

In  small  things  and  great,  the  same  good  word  can 
be  spoken.  The  gay-flowering  cretonnes  which  adorn 
our  rooms  and  disfigure  their  occupants  have  an  hon 
orable  tale  to  tell  of  American  ambition.  Some  native 
genius,  we  were  told,  was  experimenting,  but  refused  to 
put  any  goods  upon  the  market  until  he  had  wrested 
the  secret  of  skill,  and  satisfied  himself  of  their  excel 
lence.  Suddenly  cretonnes  which  had  been  procurable 
only  at  a  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  were  abundant  in 
graceful  figures  and  soft,  agreeable  colors  for  seventy- 
five  and  eighty-seven  cents,  and  we  knew  our  Ameri 
can  genius  had  succeeded.  Look  at  California  blank- 


112  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

ets,  heavy  yet  light,  worth  almost  their  weight  in  gold, 
white  and  fine  and  fleecy  like  the  clouds,  pure  as  the 
driven  snow,  and  imprisoning  the  very  soul  of  warmth, 
and  know  that,  though  America  has  yet  much  to  learn, 
and  though  the  noble  mind  counts  nothing  done  while 
any  thing  remains  undone,  still  we  have  a  country 
which,  even  in  its  manufactures,  ncedeth  not  to  be 
ashamed. 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  POVERTY.  H3 


VII. 

THE  PLEA  S  URES  OF  PO  VER  TY. 

ONE  of  the  most  gratifying  developments  of  modern 
science  is  the  possibilities  of  poverty.  Mind,  I  say  the 
possibilities,  not  the  possibility  of  poverty.  The  world 
has  always  known  that  it  might  be  poor,  but  it  was  re 
served  for  our  own  day  to  learn  how  much  it  could  be 
and  do  and  enjoy  in  poverty.  Science  has  investigated 
so  loyally,  art  has  showed  itself  so  democratic,  that  it 
really  seems  to  make  little  difference  nowadays  wheth 
er  you  are  rich  or  poor.  It  is  only  a,  choice  of  effects 
where  all  effects  are  pleasing.  If  you  are  rich,  you  fin 
ish  your  room  with  polished  woods,  much  inlaid  work, 
frescoing,  and  gilding.  You  pile  heavy  carpets  on  your 
floors,  hang  heavy  curtains  at  your  windows,  lead  in  the 
sunshine  through  wrondrous  films  of  gossamer,  forget 
your  walls  in  the  pictured  pride  and  beauty  and  brav 
ery  of  the  Old  World,  and  fill  your  rooms  with  mem 
ories  of  palaces,  with  devices  of  genius,  with  the  luxu 
ries  of  all  lands.  The  effect  is  soothing,  sensuous,  de 
lightful.  The  confusion  and  clamor  of  our  manifold  ac 
tivities  are  hushed  into  a  harmonious  lullab}^.  Life  is 
a  dream,  a  reminiscence,  a  prophecy,  an  ecstasy. 

But  you  are  poor.  Yes,  and  sarcenet  and  muslin 
and  straw  matting  have  their  victories  no  less  renown 
ed  than  plush.  Heaviness,  solidity,  majesty  come  with 


1U  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

money,  but  lightness,  airiness,  grace  come  without  it. 
Sunshine  itself  will  almost  furnish  a  house,  and  there  is 
a  mental  exhilaration  in  the  conversion  of  an  old  mus 
lin  gown  into  a  new  toilet-table  which  hired  upholstery 
can  never  confer.  This  domestic  transmigration  of 
souls  gives  a  sort  of  creative  consciousness  which  is 
akin — though  perhaps  remotely — to  the  artistic  sense. 
You  will  never  make  a  picture,  but  out  of  four  walls 
and  a  few  rags,  boards,  and  pennies,  you  have  made  a 
home  light,  cheerful,  gay.  It  does  not  lure  you  to  re 
pose—no  ;  but  it  tones  you  to  action.  It  wiles  you  into 
no  dream  of  past  grandeur,  but  it  rouses  you  to  per 
formance  and  achievement.  It  thrills  you  with  the  ea 
gerness  of  spring-time  and  the  promise  of  summer. 

Nor  is  poverty  hopeless  even  of  pictures.  "  The  first 
thing  to  do,"  says  my  art-critic,  "if  3-011  would  cultivate 
a  love  of  true  art,  is  to  throw  your  chromos  out  of  the 
window."  Throw  your  own  chromos  out  if  you  like, 
but  lay  a  finger  on  mine  at  your  peril !  The  art-critic 
is  a  useful  and  superior  person.  Let  us  not  despise  him 
from  the  heights  of  our  ignorance  and  self-satisfaction. 
We  will  study  art  assiduously ;  and  when  we  have  be 
come  so  fine  and  discriminating  that  our  chromos  give 
us  no  pleasure,  we  will  dispense  with  them,  but  we  will 
not  do  so  at  any  man's  dictum,  since  how  can  we  learn 
art  by  staring  at  a  blank  wall? 

In  the  cit}'-,  neighbor  to  right  of  me  who  struck  oil, 
neighbor  to  left  of  me  who  had  an  army  contract,  neigh 
bor  in  front  of  me  who  plumbed  the  new  court-house, 
have 

"  Kitchen,  parlor,  dining-room, 
And  chamber  all  complete'1 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  POVERTY.  115 

in  butternut  and  oak  and  satin-wood  and  walnut,  black, 
French,  and  American,  polished,  varied,  and  admirable, 
while  I  have  only  feathered  my  country  nest  with  white 
pine.  It  is  a  cheap  and  common  substance,  says  Midas, 
who  uprooted  all  his  ancestral  pines  for  these  richer 
and  costlier  woods,  and  bids  me  do  the  same.  Never ! 
What  was  good  enough  for  my  fathers  is  good  enough 
for  me.  I  will  not  destroy  the  moldings  and  the  wain 
scots  and  the  cornices  which  they  set  with  painstaking 
and  fidelity.  The  same  walls  shall  echo  back  my  voice 
that  echoed  theirs.  But  here  comes  the  painter  to  the 
rescue,  with  his  art  that  is  only  not  high  art,  and,  instead 
of.  the  cold  and  somewhat  monotonous  whiteness,  fills 
my  atmosphere  with  his  lovely  tints  and  shades.  The 
soft  brown  and  gold,  and  the  shimmering  haze  of  Octo 
ber,  make  a  perpetual  Indian  summer  in  my  autumn 
room.  I  do  not  wish  to  say  any  thing  derogatory  to 
nature,  but  it  certainly  seerns  to  me  that  the  black  wal 
nut  of  man's  device  is  prettier  than  nature's  own  handi 
work.  I  look  at  the  two  side  by  side,  and  my  paint 
er's  is  surely  finer,  deeper,  more  wavy  and  graceful. 
"Graining!"  exclaims  my  neighbor  the  plumber,  and 
his  master  the  artist,  and  all  is  over  with  me.  Grain 
ing  is  to  them  an  abomination,  an  imitation,  a  cheat. 
It  is  trying  to  palm  off  painted  pine  for  a  costlier  wood. 
It  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  is  loving  nature  so  truly 
that  you  seek  to  reproduce  her  traits  where  you  are 
forbidden  to  introduce  herself.  I  can  not  command  the 
fabric  of  oak,  but  I  so  love  the  stately  tree  that  I  will 
copy  as  well  as  I  can  in  pine  his  exquisite  soft  tints  and 
clouded  shells  and  billowy  lines.  What  saith  the  Scrip- 


116  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

tures  ?  "And  the  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  they  shall  make 
an  ark  of  shittim-wood,  and  thou  shalt  overlay  it  with 
pure  gold,  within  and  without  shalt  thou  overlay  it,  and 
thou  shalt  make  staves  of  shittim-wood,  and  overlay 
them  with  gold.  Thou  shalt  also  make  a  table  of  shit 
tim-wood,  and  thou  shalt  overlay  it  with  pure  gold." 
Graining  is  only  this,  and  nothing  more.  Why  must 
we  be  wise  above  what  is  written?  "When  I  look  at 
rny  painters,  when  I  see  how  skillfully  they  have  de 
vised  instruments  wherewithal  to  imitate  the  results, 
while  absolutely  shut  off  from  the  processes  of  nature, 
I  think  them,  indeed,  but  little  lower  than  the  angels. 
Looking  at  man  with  all  his  limitations,  it  seems  more 
wonderful  that  he  should  imitate  black  walnut  so  suc 
cessfully,  than  that  his  Creator  should  be  able  to  make 
it  in  the  first  place.  That  is,  it  appears  to  require  less 
creative  ingenuity  to  make  fine  wood  at  first-hand  than 
to  make  a  man  capable  of  making  something  that  looks 
so  much  like  it.  Sham  indeed !  The  whole  question 
of  Divine  Sovereignty  and  Man's  Free  Agency  rises 
before  me  when  I  look  at  my  grained  and  glorified 
doors. 

Sham  and  cant  are  hard  words,  and  mean  hard  things ; 
but  there  is  sometimes  as  much  cant  in  the  denuncia 
tion  of  cant,  and  as  much  sham  in  the  avoidance  of 
sham,  as  in  the  cultivation  of  both.  My  plumber's 
wainscots  are  real  walnut,  and  mine  are  simulated;  but 
my  delight  in  my  shams  is  more  real  than  his  in  his 
truths.  I  love  their  beauty,  their  flowing  lines,  their 
soft  graduations  of  color.  He  loves  them  for  their  cost 
liness,  for  the  tribute  they  pay  his  pride.  How  do  I 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  POVERTY.  117 

know  ?  A  little,  because  he  did  not  select  with  his  own 
eye,  but  gave  orders  for  the  handsomest  and  highest — 
which  is  not  love's  way ;  a  good  deal,  also,  because  he 
walks  through  his  beautiful  rooms,  not  admiring,  not 
kindly  and  mellow  and  hospitable,  but  arrogant  and  os 
tentatious,  rude  to  wife,  cold  to  children,  tyrannical  to 
dependents,  unjust  to  tradesmen.  His  carved  mantel 
is  real,  but  his  cheap  pine  soul  is  not  even  grained. 

My  lovely  neighbor  over  the  way  will  hang  no  pic 
ture  on  her  walls  because  she  can  not  yet  afford  oil- 
paintings,  and  she  calls  that  being  thorough-bred.  She 
looks  at  her  rich  carpets,  her  cumbrous  chairs,  her 
smooth,  bare  walls  finished  to  the  last  degree  of  art, 
and  joyfully  reflects  that  no  engraving,  no  chromo,  no 
cheap  adornment  of  any  kind  disfigures  her  splendid 
drawing-room.  She  is  quite  frank  in  avowing  her  lim 
itations.  So  far  as  it  goes,  every  thing  is  what  it  pre 
tends  to  be. 

But,  dear  madam,  the  greatest  pretense  of  all  sits  at 
this  moment  presiding  over  this  room.  The  pretense 
is  in  a  pair  of  eyes  dark  under  their  drooping  lids,  in 
the  broad  high  forehead  and  shining  hair,  and  sensitive 
mouth  and  gracious  smile,  and  languid,  reposeful  atti 
tude.  All  sensibility  and  susceptibility  are  there,  ro 
mance  and  passion,  delight  in  beautiful  forms  and  sweet 
sounds,  if  those  features  speak  the  truth.  But  I  am 
chngrined  to  find  that  a  flaming  circus  "poster"  on  the 
polished  walls  would  be  no  more  incongruous  than  the 
sharpness  with  which  those  liquid  eyes  look  after  the 
main  chance,  and  the  decided  twang  with  which  those 
curved  and  gracious  lips  utter  their  dreary  common- 


118  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

place.  T]dngs  here  are  what  they  seem,  but  the  woman 
is  a  fine  Florentine  frame  holding  a  coarse  and  com 
mon  wood-cut,  out  of  which  no  soul  speaks,  from  which 
no  inspiration  springs. 

All  in  the  soft  spring  morning  I  stand  in  my  new 
kitchen,  empty,  swept,  and  garnished,  and  survey  the 
wonders  which  the  hand  of  man  hath  wrought.  The 
old  kitchen  was  admirable  in  its  day — equally  an  ad 
vance  on  its  predecessors — but  the  new  embraces  all 
improvements,  and  I  may  say  inventions,  up  to  date. 
And  how  pleasant  it  is,  and  how  convenient!  The 
wainscots,  the  soft,  gray  ceilings,  are  warm  and  bright 
with  the  morning  sun,  yet  the  buff  window-shades  would 
make  a  sunshine  in  a  shady  place.  The  ancestral  stove 
has  gone  down  into  Plutonic  regions  to  do  extraordi 
nary  service  in  emergencies,  and  a  new  stove,  bright 
and  black,  interlaced  with  water-pipes,  and  honey 
combed  with  dampers  and  registers  and  ash-holes  and 
air-chambers,  reigns  in  its  stead.  A  copper  boiler,  tall, 
round,  and  red,  rises  in  its  appropriate  niche,  stately  as 
a  Greek  column,  and  fraught  with  warmth  and  comfort 
and  cheer  that  Grecian  column  never  knew,  because  its 
inmost  heart  was  only  the  cold,  dead  marble,  while  my 
ruddy  pillar  throbs  with  the  very  pulse  of  the  machine. 
Brazen  faucets  gleam  on  its  curved  surface,  and  water- 
pipes  branch  out  from  it  in  all  directions.  Yonder 
stands  the  force-pump,  brave  with  polished  brass  and 
shining  steel.  The  closets  are  broad  and  ample,  with 
drawers  and  shelves  and  nooks  and  hooks  for  every 
device  of  man's  fertile  brain.  Through  the  eastern 
window  comes  the  first  dawn,  and  through  the  west  the 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  POVERTY.  119 

last  fading  of  the  sun.  I  open  a  door  on  the  north,  and 
up  and  down  to  my  very  feet  slope  the  gentle  hills ;  and 
all  above  and  around  are  the  blue  sky  and  the  arch 
ing  elms,  and  the  wide  expanse  of  the  lovely  world. 
What  a  wonderful  thing  it  is  to  be  born  into  the  sun 
shine  and  the  summer !  One  little  box  of  a  house  niched 
somehow  into  the  illimitable  universe  !  Into  it  we  corne 
from  the  unknown;  out  of  it  we  go  into  the  unknown. 
Between,  a  few  heart-beats,  a  haste,  a  heat,  a  passion,  a 
purpose,  and  then  the  eternal  peace.  Shuts  down  again 
around  us  the  mystery  of  the  shall  be,  just  as  impenetra 
ble  as  that  of  the  has  been,  and  neither  greater  than  that 
of  the  actual  is.  The  yesterday -world  did  not  know 
me,  and  the  to-rnorrow  world  will  not  know  me,  and 
myself  I  know  not  to-day.  The  clock  strikes — the  old 
clock  that  has  been  striking  for  generations  —  and  its 
voice  rings  as  brisk  and  clear  and  cheery  as  when  it 
struck  its  first  note.  Its  hands  mark  the  unerring  hours 
but  for  them  whose  hand  set  all  its  life  astir,  and  them 
that  looked  and  listened ; 

"Their  bones  are  dust, 
And  their  good  swords  rust  ; 
Their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  I  trust." 

The  clock  ticks  away  untiringlj'.  the  moats  float  out 
their  everlasting  leisure  in  the  slant  sunshine,  and  I 
think  of  one  who 

"Swept  a  floor  as  to  God's  law, 

And  made  that  and  the  action  fine;" 

whose  kitchen  was  no  mere  work-room,  desecrated  to 
toil,  and  to  be  deserted  at  the  first  opportunity,  but  a 
centre  of  household  activities,  a  focus  of  home  life.  In 


120  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEJfOX 

that  room  reigned  order  find  system  and  spotless  puri 
ty — the  very  principles  that  hold  the  worlds  in  hand. 
Here  economy  was  practiced,  not  as  a  stern,  enforced 
duty,  but  from  a  subtle  sense  of  harmony — the  outward 
and  visible  sign  of  an  inward  and  spiritual  grace. 
Waste  was  abhorred,  not  so  much  because  it  was  cost 
ly  as  because  it  was  wrong.  Forethought  gave  worth 
to  industry,  and  intelligence  lifted  homely  household 
work  up  from  the  level  of  labor  into  the  dignity  of  ad 
ministration,  Sucti  service  was  like  the  service  of  na 
ture,  whose  forces  achieve  noiselessly  for  the  most  parr, 
but  always  achieve. 

And  shall  ignorance  and  untidiness  and  clumsy  reck 
lessness  lord  it  over  this  peaceful  domain?  Must  rude 
hands  mar  this  comely  array,  dim  the  lustre,  and  tarnish 
the  purity,  and  leave  the  trail  of  the  serpent  over  it  all  ? 
I  suppose  eternal  vigilance  is  the  price  of  culinary  per 
fection,  and  it  is  too  great  a  price  to  pay.  So  my  brass 
will  become  dimmed,  and  my  fine  copper  changed.  I 
shall  look  after  matters  somewhat;  but  because  the  rul 
ing  principle  comes  from  without,  and  not  from  with 
in,  there  will  always  be  lapses  from  kitchen  propriety. 
Coffee  will  be  left  standing  in  the  coffee-pot;  kettles 
will  be  put  away  not  thoroughly  cleaned  and  dried,  to 
gather  foulness  and  rust;  the  broom  will  be  left  to  stand 
on  the  broom-end,  and  spoil  for  lack  of  thrift  to  put  on 
a  fresh  loop  when  the  old  one  is  worn  out;  the  dish- 
towels  will  drop  into  the  wood-box,  and  be  lost  both  to 
sight  and  memory;  the  ironing-cloth  will  be  rumpled 
and  jammed  into  the  drawer  instead  of  being  nicely 
folded  and  laid  a\vav:  the  window-class  will  gather 


THE  PLEASURES   OF  POVERTY.  121 

specks,  and  the  clock's  mirror-face  will  become  clouded, 
and  the  ceiling  will  be  festooned  here  and  there  with 
dainty  cobwebs,  and  I  mentally  shake  my  fist  at  the, 
as  yet,  purely  mental  intruder  whose  far-off  coming  al 
ready  makes 

"  Discord  on  the  music  fall, 
And  darkness  on  the  glory  !'' 

Oh !  why,  when  every  prospect  pleases,  should  only 
man  be  vile,  especially  woman?  For,  unquestionably 
vile  as  man  is,  he  has  not  shown  his  vileness  here.  In 
deed  he  has  shown  quite  the  opposite — skill,  ingenuity, 
not  to  say  benevolence.  Every  thing  here  which  ex 
cites  my  admiration  is  the  work  of  man.  I  wonder  if 
women  could  not  have  done  it  just  as  well.  This  fine 
finger- work  of  painting  and  graining  and  polishing 
might  certainly  be  wrought  even  by  lady-fingers.  A 
great  deal  of  the  work  of  a  carpenter  requires  skill 
rather  than  strength — no  more  strength,  certainly,  than 
many  a* woman  commands.  The  lifting  of  heavy  beams, 
the  painting  of  sky-roofs,  might  be  beyond  her  power, 
and  in  that  fact  I  suppose  lies  her  real  disability.  The 
master-workman  may  not  call  upon  his  reserved  strength 
by  the  week  together,  but  he  can  not  carry  on  his  busi 
ness  unless  it  is  there,  to  be  called  on  in  an  emergency. 
The  householder  pays  his  man-servant  higher  wages  for 
the  same  work  than  his  maid-servant ;  but  if  he  wishes 
an  errand  dispatched  at  midnight,  or  in  the  midst  of  a 
driving  snow-storm,  he  sends  his  man-servant  at  once, 
where  his  maid-servant  he  would  not  dream  of  send 
ing;  In  paying  the  extra  price,  in  choosing  the  boy  for 
nn  apprentice  and  refusing  the  girl,  these  facts  no  doubt 

6 


122  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

have  their  weight.  Yet  carpenters  might  teach  their 
wives  and  daughters  and  sisters  how  to  handle  the 
plane  and  chisel  and  saw,  to  immense  advantage.  Some 
women  have  a  natural  turn  for  mechanics,  and  a  little 
instruction  would  give  them  power  to  help  themselves 
over  many  a  hard  place.  If  they  could  not  earn  their 
living  by  mechanical  skill,  they  could  often  minister 
greatly  to  their  own  ease,  comfort,  and  economy.  They 
could  greatly  improve  the  living  that  is  earned  for 
them,  and  they  could  greatly  serve  those  whose  lines 
have  fallen  in  less  pleasant  places. 

This  at  least  is  certain  :  if  girls  can  not  be  carpenters, 
they  can  marry  carpenters.  Of  course,  love,  as  the  prov 
erb  says,  goes  where  it  is  sent ;  and  you  can  not  fall  in 
love  with  a  man  because  he  is  handy,  but,  my  blessed 
damosels,  you  can  at  least  maintain  toward  the  guild 
that  appreciative  attitude  which  wins  from  a  man  his 
best  all  unwittingly.  You  can  sufficiently  possess  your 
selves  of  the  principles  of  architecture  and  mechanics, 
to  know  that  he  who  has  mastered  them  has  made 
no  mean  acquisition,  and  can  proffer  you  at  least  that 
solid  ground  whereon  love  must  alight  to  rest  his 
weary  wings.  To  be  a  good  carpenter,  a  man  must 
have  perception  and  acuteness,  powers  of  comparison 
and  judgment,  steadfastness  and  a  sense  of  proportion  ; 
strength  of  arm  and  skill  of  hand  and  grip  of  mind — 
qualities  which  no  woman  dislikes,  and  which,  in  con 
nection  with  other  traits,  make  a  character  thoroughly 
admirable. 

The  world's  type  of  goodness  in  greatness  was  a  car 
penter's  son.  Not  to  a  family  of  the  rich  and  ennobled, 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  POVERTY.  123 

fed  by  hereditary  grace,  or  endowed  with  exceptional 
genius,  not  to  the  abodes  of  the  thriftless,  abject,  and 
hopeless  poor  came  He,  but  to  the  home  of  skill  and 
intelligence,  of  self-respect,  and  self-support,  to  confer 
upon  these  homely  and  honorable  virtues  the  dignity 
of  Heaven. 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 


VIII. 

TO  TUDIZ  BY  RAILROAD. 

DOUBTLESS  the  completion  of  the  Pacific  Railroad 
was  an  event  of  national  interest  and  continental  im 
portance  ;  and  doubtless,  second  only  to  his  honorable 
record  in  the  great  rebellion,  General  Dodge  congratu 
lates  himself,  not  unworthily,  upon  having  enrolled  his 
name  among  those  who  have  won  for  their  country  the 
victories  of  peace,  no  less  renowned  than  war's.  And 
what  with  the  driving  of  golden  spikes  midway  be 
tween  two  oceans,  and  the  baptizing  of  babies  with  the 
mingled  waters  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  seas,  our 
enthusiastic  and  mercurial  countrymen  seemed  deter 
mined  that  no  element  of  the  fanciful  should  be  want 
ing  to  make  the  work  impressive.  It  was  more  like 
a  fairy  story  than  like  the  actual  achievements  of  hard 
heads  and  horny  hands  in  this  practical  nineteenth  cen 
tury. 

Yet  for  all  your  golden  wedges  and  baptismal  waters, 
the  whole  Pacific  Railroad  does  not  touch  one  so  nearly 
as  riding  up  to  Tudiz  on  a  railroad.  Geographically 
considered,  Tudiz  is  to  most  scholars  an  unexplored  re 
gion.  I  might  explain  its  locality  by  saying  that  it  is 
partially  bounded  by,  involved  in,  and  a  constituent 
part  of,  Pine  Swamp ;  but  even  then 

"  It  would  be  a  secret  still, 
Though  all  look  on  it  at  will ; 


TO  TUDIZ  BY  RAILROAD.  125 

For  the  eye  shall  read  in  vain 
What  the  heart  can  not  explain." 

Etymological! j,  Tudiz  is  full  of  interest.  No  word 
analyzed  and  liistorized  by  Dean  Trench  is  more  lumi 
nous  than  this,  illustrating  as  it  does  the  loyalty  to  law, 
the  hurnor,  and  the  intelligence  of  our  ancestors.  Years 
and  years  ago,  before  any  person  now  on  the  earth  had 
been  born,  a  question  came  np  in  "town  meeting"  con 
cerning  a  large  tract  of  land  lying  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  township.  The  owner  thereof,  or  some  person  con 
cerned  in  the  transfer,  arose  before  the  assembled  sov 
ereigns,  and  declared,  or  meant  to  declare,  that  there 
was  some  error  in  the  transaction,  which  he  wished  to 
have  rectified.  Unhappily,  the  poor  fellow  was  not 
skilled  in  words,  or  was  confused  by  the  unwonted 
prominence  of  his  position  ;  and,  instead  of  saying  "  rec 
tified,"  he  put  it  "  rectitude."  But  these  grim  old  Puri 
tan  Solons  had  no  mercy.  Nemesis  pounced  upon  him, 
and  fastened  to  him  the  name  of  "  Tudy  "  for  the  re 
mainder  of  his  natural  life,  and  even  handed  his  shame 
and  its  scorn  down  to  a  local  immortality,  since  the 
land  he  owned  and  the  region  round  about  is  called 
Tudy's  to  this  very  day. 

But  we  can  not  always  go  into  explanation  ;  where 
fore,  when  we  wish  to  be  romantic  and  mellifluous, 
rather  than  philological,  we  spell  it  Tudiz,  to  match  the 
dark-eyed  girl  of  Cadiz! 

A  railroad  to  Tudiz!  The  imagination  refuses  to 
comprehend  it.  With  the  institution  in  general  we  are 
not  unfamiliar.  The  engine's  shrill  shriek  has  deafened 
us  so  long,  that  the  memory  of  man  scarcely  runneth 


126  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEJIOX. 

to  the  contrary;  but  that  a  train  of  cars  should  delib 
erately  leave  the  beaten  track  of  trade  and  travel,  and 
roll  off  toward  Tudiz  and  Pine  Swamp,  seems  to  us 
yet  an  almost  incredible  thing.  I  can  more  easily  be 
lieve  in  the  scaling  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  in  pene 
trating  the  Yosemite,  than  in  modernizing  Tudiz.  The 
West  was  made  to  be  modernized.  Telegraphs  and 
steam-carriages  were  invented  to  this  very  end ;  but 
Tudiz  is  sacred  to  the  past. 

If  the  Spirit  of  Conservatism  could  anywhere  say  to 
the  Spirit  of  Progress,  "Thus  far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no 
farther,"  it  would  certainly  be  at  the  old  stone-wall 
which  fences  off  Tudiz  and  the  river  meadows.  But 
that  wall  of  division  is  broken  down,  and  all  our  secret 
haunts  are  laid  open  to  the  march  of  improvement. 

As  you  stand  on  the  platform  of  the  staggering  car, 
the  wild  rushing  wind  blowing  your  hat  one  way,  and 
your  hair  all  ways,  you  see  not  the  railroad  crowd,  but 
the  dead  generations.  You  are  cutting  through  the 
corn-fields,  the  woodlands,  the  cranberry-meadows,  the 
blueberry-swamps,  that  have  descended  from  father  to 
son  for  ages,  unvexed  by  greed,  unassailed  by  ambition. 
What  does  Master  Stephen  think  of  3*ou,  seven  devils 
that  you  are,  snorting,  screaming,  plunging  past  his 
backdoor  without  so  much  as  saying  "by  your  leave?" 
Master  Stephen,  the  stately  gentleman  who  dwelt  so 
grandly  on  his  ancestral  acres,  and,  with  pardonable  ex 
cess  of  pride,  wanted  no  son  of  his  to  go  out  into  the 
coarse  scramble  of  trade,  but  thought  the  best  way  for 
a  young  man  to  acquire  property  was  to  wait  and  in 
herit  it!  In  the  eagerness  and  mad  haste  of  this  day, 


TO  TUDIZ  BY  RAILROAD.  127 

I  love  to  remember  that  there  was  one  man  who  never 
gave  in  to  it  —  who  set  himself  deliberately  and  hon 
orably  against  it.  Teaching  the  "district  school"  was 
not  only  not  derogatory  to  his  dignity,  but  rather  added 
to  it,  so  great  was  our  reverence  for  learning  in  those 
old  times:  and  truly  Master  Stephen  honored  himself, 
and  honored  his  calling;  for  he  taught  with  love  for 
teaching,  magnifying  his  office,  and  rejoicing  with  pater 
nal  joy  in  the  after-prowess  of  his  pupils.  Now,  when 
we  want  a  teacher,  we  take  young  men  from  the  col 
leges,  who  yearn  for  a  hundred  dollars  to  eke  out  the 
expenses  of  sophomore  or  senior  year ;  young  men  with 
out  experience  and  without  responsibility,  who  may  be 
mature  and  trustworthy,  but  are  quite  as  likely  to  be 
chiefly  intent  on  getting  through  the  three  months  and 
receiving  their  wage.  This  done,  they  flit ;  and  whether 
they  have  wrought  good  or  evil,  matters  little  to  them. 
Not  so  in  the  brave  days  of  old.  Master  Steve  dwelt 
among  his  own  people.  In  the  summer  he  tilled  his 
well-loved  farm.  In  the  winter  he  taught  the  well- 
loved  farmers'  children,  and  faced  the  fruits  of  his  do 
ings  all  the  year  round,  and  called  no  man  master. 
Proud  he  was  of  his  abilities  and  accomplishments; 
but  with  a  transparent,  child-like  pride,  that  gave  amuse 
ment  and  won  sympathy,  but  never  caused  offense.  The 
offices  to  which  his  townsmen  elected  him  were  to  him 
a  solemn  trust;  and  the  well-kept  pages  of  many  a 
year's  record  show  how  faithfully  he  held  it.  All  the 
duties  of  life  bore  him  honor;  and  never  king  went  to 
his  coronation  with  form  more  erect,  with  tread  more 
majestic,  or  dignity  more  unalloyed,  than  he  to  his  he- 


128  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

reditary  pew  in  the  village  church.  Brave  and  blame 
less  gentleman !  We  have  fallen  on  other  days  and 
other  ways,  and  the  world  wears  more  loosely -fitting 
garments  than  was  its  wont;  but  I  question  if  we  have 
not  lost,  as  well  as  gained,  somewhat  by  the  change. 

Shriek  on,  you  fiery -breathed  dragon ;  what  do  you 
care  for  the  blackberry-patches  where  we  stained  our 
fingers  and  tore  our  clothes  a  hundred  years  ago?  Pro 
fane  the  silences  of  the  greenwood,  broken  only  in  win 
ter  by  the  woodman's  axe.  Kush,  mad  monster  that 
you  are,  past  yon  still  house  half  hidden  beneath  its 
elms  of  the  centuries,  and  give  no  thought  to  the  mute, 
inglorious  Milton  who  used  to  haunt  it.  Unhappy  Ken- 
nettell,  gifted  beyond  the  common  lot,  but  doomed  by 
some  untoward  fate  to  be  chained  to  his  muck-rake 
forever!  No  improvisatore  of  Italy  could  rhyme  more 
readily  than  lie;  but  he  never  went  farther  than  to 
amuse  the  village  shopman — never  within  my  knowl 
edge  ;  but  as  I  was  one  day  walking  down  a  green 
lane,  I  was  suddenly  aware  of  some  one  behind  me ; 
and,  using  the  eyes  which  we  all  have  in  the  back  of 
the  head,  soon  ascertained  that  it  was  Kennettell  wheel 
ing  a  wheelbarrow.  For  a  long  space  he  followed  me 
at  a  respectful  distance,  till  I  presently  turned  aside  and 
plucked  a  buttercup,  to  let  him  pass.  To  my  surprise, 
instead  of  passing,  he  set  down  his  wheelbarrow,  and 
waited  as  punctiliously  for  me  to  resume  my  walk  as 
if  I  had  been  a  monarch  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  he 
my  most  humble  courtier.  Presently  he  spoke: 

"  May  I  be  permitted  to  ask  if  this  is  the  author  who 
is  known  by  the  name  of  'Vitriol  Vixen ?' >; 


TO   TUDIZ  BY  RAILROAD.  129 

I  was  rather  overcome.  I  had  never  heard  of  him 
except  as  "  old  Kennettell " — with  or  without  the  adjec 
tive  prefixed — a  drunken  village  vagabond,  with  great 
facility  in  writing  verses.  But  it  was  a  gentleman  who 
addressed  me  with  the  courtliness,  the  deference,  the 
elegance  of  the  old  school;  his  manner  was  entirely 
self-possessed,  his  words  were  deliberate,  his  voice,  but 
for  a  certain  hollowness  which  comes  from  dissipation, 
cultivated.  What  evil  fairy  frowned  upon  his  cradle, 
and  sent  him  stooping,  tottering,  maudling  through 
the  streets,  in  a  solitary  and  dishonored  old  age,  in 
stead  of  setting  him  to  grace  and  illustrate  his  time? 
He  should  have  been  Kennettell,  poet  and  gentleman, 
instead  of  hanging  around  the  shoe-makers'  shops — 
old  Kennettell,  half  crazy,  and,  when  he  is  not  crazy, 
drunk. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  I  answered,  heartily,  but  gazing  all 
the  while  into  his  heavy  eyes,  if  perhaps  I  might  some 
where,  somehow,  see  the  Kennettell  that  God  meant, 
rising,  evolving,  extricating  itself  from  the  Kennettell 
that  had  become.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  am  only  myself; 
but  yon,  I  hear,  are  given  to  composition." 

"  I  am,  indeed,  not  unused  to  the  pen.  In  my  earlier 
•days,  I  used  to  contribute  to  several  periodicals." 

•" Under  j-our  own  name?" 

"Sometimes,  but  usually  under  a  pseudonym.  My 
favorite  name  was  Einaldo,  and  that  title  I  used  most 
frcquentty." 

"I  should  like  much  to  see  some  of  \'our  writings. 
Have  you  preserved  any  of  them?" 

"None.  They  floated  about  in  the  'Ladies'  Maga- 
6* 


130  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

zine,'  in  '  The  Boston  Mirror,'  and  in  many  otber  papers. 
I  used  to  be  much  solicited  and  well  paid." 

And  through  some  fatal  moral  gravity,  some  irresisti 
ble  downward  tendency,  this  man  lost  the  heights  he 
should  have  gained — did  for  his  fellows  no  better  serv 
ice  than  to  tend  through  the  small-pox  some  wretched 
scalawag,  whose  bedside,  indeed,  he  would  occasionally 
leave  for  awhile,  to  go  around  and  make  a  friendly 
call  on  the  neighbors,  so  that  the  small-pox  had  a  fair 
chance  to  show  its  hand ;  and  if  it  did  not  embrace  the 
opportunity,  and  the  population  too,  it  must  have  been 
an  inferior  article. 

Thus  he  maundered  through  his  feeble,  useless  life, 
and  died  in  the  poor-house.  The  home  of  his  haunting 
stands  silent  under  the  hill,  and  out  of  his  grave  comes 
no  voice.  Faint  spark  of  divine  life,  dim  glimmering 
through  degraded  years,  choked  out  of  the  world  at 
last,  is  there  never  and  nowhere  any  relighting? 

Whiz  and  roar  and  clatter  and  shake  and  rush,  as  if 
the  one  object  in  life  were  to  get  away  from,  and  get 
to,  somewhere.  Passengers  from  near  and  far,  why  do 
you  look  so  careless  and  vacant?  Why  do  you  chat 
ter  and  chatter,  and  see  nothing?  Conductor,  put  down 
the  brakes,  take  off  your  polished  label  from  }-our 
breast,  and  be  a  man.  Do  you  see  that  old  woman 
swinging  in  yonder  bent  apple-tree?  No?  What  are 
your  eyes  good  for?  It  is  Grandmother  Hubbard,  in 
her  grave  these  fifty  years,  swinging  on  the  bent  apple- 
tree.  Who  is  Grandmother  Hubbard?  Oh!  that  I  can 
not  tell  you.  She  was  born,  and  became  a  grandmoth 
er,  and  died.  So  much  is  in  her  name.  But  of  all  her 


TO   TUDIZ  BY  RAILROAD.  131 

long  life  of  love  or  Late,  of  pleasure  or  sorrow,  of  good 
or  evil  doing,  this  only  remains  by  tradition  for  future 
ages  to  the  world's  benefit,  that  in  this  bent  apple-tree 
she  used  to  sit  and  swing.  Whether  in  her  grand 
motherly  or  pre-grandmotherly  days  she  thus  laid  the 
foundation  of  her  post-mortem  biography,  we  are  not 
informed.  My  childish  eyes  always  saw  her  there  in 
octogenarian  cap  and  glasses,  a  wrinkled  and  decrepit 
woman,  bowed  almost  to  the  angle  of  the  tree  she 
swung  on.  It  is  not  much  to  tell — an  immortality  of 
little  worth — faint  essence  to  extract  from  the  long  tur 
moil  of  a  woman's  life — its  sole  savor  left  in  departing; 
but  it  was  accident,  not  essence.  Somewhere  —  unre 
corded  perhaps  in  the  world's  annals,  but  not  unrecog 
nized  of  the  world's  Creator — has  floated  out  the  aroma 
of  that  forgotten  life,  and  still,  over  this  alert  and  eager 
earth,  broaden  and  circle  the  waves  of  impulse  that  she 
started.  Down  brakes!  Good  conductor,  do  you  not 
see  the  whole  parish  trooping  to  church  along  the  path 
which  you  will  assuredly  plow  across  if  you  keep  on 
this  headlong  way  ?  In  the  village  church-yard  they 
lie,  every  one,  older  than  Noah  and  Methuselah ;  do  not 
you  see  them  flitting  under  the  hill,  filing  through  the 
wood,  dressed  in  their  Sunday  best — Uncle  Tim  trot 
ting  on  rods  before  his  wife,  and  waiting  now  and  then 
for  her  to  come  up?  They  are  crossing  the  brook,  they 
are  climbing  the  stile,  they  are  opening  the  gate — stur 
dy  boys  that  are  grandfathers  now,  and  dead  at  that; 
and  among  the  strong-limbed  girls,  perhaps,  is  that  very 
Grandmother  Hubbard  who  swung  out  her  name  and 
fame  on  the  bent  apple-tree.  The  stile  is  taken  away; 


132  TWELVE  MILES  FJiOJI  A  LEUOX. 

the  gate  is  built  into  the  wall;  the  path  has  crept  back 
into  field ;  all  the  parish  goes  to  church  by  the  new 
road :  and  only  the  oldest  inhabitant  and  I  know  that 
there  ever  was  a  thoroughfare  in  this  beautiful  wild 
waste.  Leave  it  wild  and  waste  and  beautiful,  I  pray 
you,  men  and  brethren,  and  do  not  crush  our  phantoms 
under  your  iron  wheels. 

What  do  they  think  of  you  at  Mingo's? — the  merry 
imps,  the  graceless,  dare-devil,  do-nothing,  happy-go- 
easy  gnomes,  sparks  of  Southern  fire  borne  by  a  wan 
ton  wind  to  this  untender  North,  glittering  a  short,  gro 
tesque  life,  and  going  out  forever?  Children  of  the 
palm-tree  and  the  desert  and  the  fervid  tropical  sun, 
souvenirs  of  the  Sphinx  and  the  Pyramids  and  the  eter 
nal  repose  of  Egypt,  wrenched  out  of  all  their  poetry, 
their  calmness,  their  broad,  still  civilization,  flung  up 
bare  and  defenseless  against  our  hard,  foreign  ways,  our 
cold,  rugged,  unnatural  life  —  Egypt  and  the  Sphinx 
went  quickly  out  of  them,  and  they  were  nothing  but  a 
family  of  "niggers,"  shiftless,  worthless,  ne'er-do-well, 
glad  of  the  crumbs  which  fell  even  from  poor  men's  ta 
bles.  What  could  they  do  but  drop  out  of  life  one  by 
one?  There  are  wreaths  of  blinding  snow  which  shut 
away  the  summer  sun.  Under  the  bleak  hill  they  have 
whirled  up  a  curious  mound.  The  belated,  benumbed, 
bewildered  traveler,  solitary  and  intent,  pitches  through 
the  ever -accumulating  drifts,  but  stumbles  upo'n  this 
and  starts  back,  all  his  chilled  blood  shocked  into  sud 
den  heat  and  horror.  It  is  the  last  of  the  merry  imps 
of  Mingo's,  lying  in  a  drunken  death  in  the  pathway  of 
the  storm,  till  death  in  sober  earnest  overtook  him.  So 


TO  TUDIZ  BY  BAILROAD.  133 

they  drifted  out  of  the  great  unknown  into  a  narrow, 
aimless,  degraded  life,  and,  after  a  little  groveling  and 
grinning  and  grimacing,  drifted  out  again  into  a  great 
unknown,  and  left  upon  the  earth  that  we  can  see  no 
mark  but  "Mingo's:"  yet  known  unto  God  are  all  his 
works ;  and  if  he  must  use  for  building-blocks  these  un 
shapely  and  unsightly  stones  that  will  take  no  polish 
and  crumble  under  the  chisel,  it  is  the  least  of  all  possi 
ble  reasons  why  we  should  make  them  or  leave  them 
unsightly  and  unshapely. 

Merry  imps,  grim  and  grinning  ghosts,  sad  shadows, 
gentle  and  sweet  phantoms,  it  is  no  work  of  mine.  I 
never  broke  into  your  fastnesses  with  smoke  and  whirl 
wind  and  fury.  I  would  have  left  you  to  your  haunts 
forever.  Never  should  the  foot  of  traffic  or  of  pleasure 
have  pressed  your  turf.  Only  some  wandering,  wistful 
wayfarer  like  me  should  now  and  then  heighten  your 
solitude;  only  the  familiar  stroke  of  the  frosty  axe,  or 
the  crusted  snow  crunching  under  the  patient  feet  of 
oxen,  should  have  softened,  not  broken,  your  olden  si 
lence;  only  the  gentle  and  timid  cows  should  have 
stood  knee-deep  at  noontide  in  your  sluggish  summer 
brook,  or  browsed  along  your  ancient  hill-side,  scarcely 
more  ancient  than  they.  But  even  to  this  snorting, 
screaming  devil,  let  us  give  his  due.  He  makes  havoc 
among  the  phantoms;  tr.ue,  but  it  is  only  for  a  week. 
Double,  double,  toil  and  trouble,  for  seven  restless  daj-s, 
and  then  a  year  of  rest  again  as  deep  as  the  centuries. 
Only  a  week,  and  the  iron  rails  shall  lie  as  still  as  the 
earth  that  holds  them,  and  the  dead  generations  shall 
come  back  to  their  haunts,  as  noiseless  as  of  old.  And 


134  TWELVE  MILL'S  FROM  A  LEJIOX. 

for  that  week,  though  he  bitterly  disturb  the  dead,  this 
frantic  and  ruthless  demon,  consider,  I  pray  you,  fair 
ghosts,  how  much  succor  he  brings  the  living.  The 
great  and  terrible  crowds  that  used  to  descend  into  our 
very  door-yards,  drink  all  our  waters  dry,  choke  us  with 
clouds  of  dust,  jostle  us  in  our  own  streets — these 
crowds  he  swallows  as  deftly  as  a.  snake  her  endanger 
ed  young,  and  leaves  us  clean  and  content  to  go  in  the 
old  paths.  All  the  booths  and  stalls  that  sprung  up  on 
our  borders  for  one  vigorous  week ;  candy- tents  and 
coffee-barracks ;  counters  that  invited  you  to  buy  baked 
beans  and  brown  bread,  stalled  oysters  and  hatred  there 
with  ;  marvelous  menageries,  that  promised  to  show 
you  a  Hindoo  cow,  and  a  Persian  ox,  and  a  performing 
pig,  and  a  Kentucky  giantess,  and  a  boa-constrictor,  for 
the  moderate  sum  of  ten  cents,  children  half-price ;  fan 
dangoes  that  invited  you  to  swing;  and  hobby-horses 
without  legs,  whereon  you  might  ride  in  a  sort,  of 
round-robin  for  five  minutes  and  five  cents;  bears  that 
danced,  and  monkeys  that  dressed — all  these  this  rapa 
cious  and  remorseless  demon,  this  kindly  and  merciful 
genius,  has  drawn  into  his  capacious  maw,  and  let  us 
have  peace. 

Yet  the  world  is  never  unanimous,  and  every  bless 
ing  has  its  drawback. 

"Oh  mamma!"  cries  our  little  maiden  of  four  sum 
mers,  with  vivid  memories  of  previous  delight  and  un 
shed  tears  of  disappointment  filming  her  black  eye**, 
U0h  mamma!  I  went  to  camp-meeting,  and  didn't  see 
the  bear!" 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS   OF  RAILHOADS.  135 


IX. 

THE  HIGHER  LA  WS  OF  RAILROADS. 

To  country-folk,  railroads  are  Manifest  Destiny.  So 
much  of  our  life  is  connected  with  them,  that  the  Eule 
of  the  Eoad  concerns  us  deeply.  The  courtesies,  com 
forts,  and  customs  of  the  railroad  come  home  to  men's 
business  and  bosoms. 

In  favored  hours  we  are  wont  to  sny  there  are  no 
disagreeable  travelers.  We  are  impressed  with  the  con 
sideration,  which  traveling  Americans  show  each  other, 
and  we  even  marvel  within  ourselves,  "What  becomes 
of  the  disagreeable  people?" 

For,  alas!  much  as  we  love  our  county,  we  can  not 
persuade  ourselves  that  our  countrymen  and  country 
women  are  always  and  everywhere  amiable.  In  all 
classes  there  must  be  a  degree  of  irritability,  impa 
tience,  selfishness,  unwisdom,  which  at  times  renders 
the  closest  of  friends  a  little  outrageous  and  intolerable 
to  each  other.  They  impute  motives,  and  make  re 
quirements,  and  misunderstand,  and  meddle,  in  a  man 
ner  which  is  exceedingly  annoying  when  the  tempera 
ture  is  at  three  or  four  hundred  in  the  shade,  though 
we  are  ashamed  to  remember  it  wrhen  the  thermometer 
ranges  back  to  a  reasonable  figure.  But  apparently 
these  people  do  not  travel ;  with  all  the  flitting  to  and 
fro  which  the  summer  months  invariably  witness,  any 


136  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

thing  like  rank  discourtesy,  positive  impoliteness,  stud 
ied  or  even  indifferent  ill-manners,  is  rarely  seen.  AVc 
have  traveled  hither  and  yon,  by  steamer,  railroad-train, 
stage-coach,  and  pleasure-wagon,  and  have  remarked  an 
almost  entire  absence  of  social  rudeness  or  unkindness 
or  ill-bred  selfishness  among  American  travelers.  It 
is  unquestionably  hard,  when  you  are  luxuriously  loun 
ging  in  four  seats  of  a  railway-carriage,  to  be  called  upon 
•to  relinquish  three  of  them,  and  pile  your  parcels  over 
head  or  underfoot,  or  in  your  lap;  but  our  American 
saints  have  done  it  without  a  murmur — even  more,  with 
a  smile.  It  must  be  exasperating  to  pounce  upon  an 
empty  chair  on  a  crowded  deck,  and  meet  the  smiling 
sentence  "  engaged,"  but  we  have  never  iailed  to  see 
the  claim  recognized.  The  man  who  will  lower  his 
umbrella,  and  be  content  to  broil  on  the  top  of  a  stage 
coach,  that  he  may  not  break  the  view  of  his  neighbor, 
is  entitled  to  rank  in  the  calendar  hard  by  St.  Lawrence 
on  his  gridiron.  Nor  has  he  any  mean  claim  to  canon 
ization  who  will  hush  the  clamors  of  his  own  appetite, 
and  supplement  the  services  of  slow  or  overworked 
servants,  by  ministering  the  daintiest  tidbits  of  the  ho 
tel  table  to  hungry  Samaritan  strangers.  All  this,  and 
more,  have  our  eyes  seen  in  these  later  days.  Consid 
eration,  courtesy,  helpfulness  are  the  rule :  rudeness  is 
the  exception. 

Is  it  that  the  disagreeable  people  stay  at  home,  or 
that  they  leave  their  disagreeableness  at  home?  Per 
haps  a  little  of  both.  Disagreeableness  is  oftener  than 
any  thing  else  mere  impatience,  petulance,  irritability, 
narrowness,  arising  not  from  natural  qualities,  but  from 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS  OF  KAILSOADS.  1ST 

a  too  restricted  life.  Ilome  is  the  natural  centre  of  the 
world;  but  too  much  staying  there  unfits  one  to  make 
home  what  it  should  be.  It  is  necessary  for  the  father 
and  mother  to  break  up  the  routine  of  their  days,  to  go 
out  into  a  fresh  world,  to  change  air  and  sky  and  scen 
ery,  to  see  new  faces,  and  be  surrounded  by  new  inter 
ests.  It  is  better  even  that  they  should  be  tired,  con 
fused,  perplexed  by  unwonted  cares,  than  that  they 
should  forever  tread  the  old,  dull  round  of  things.  A 
woman  goes  back  to  her  home  with  a  better  apprecia 
tion  of  its  value  for  having  spent  some  time  away  from 
it.  To  women  the  change  afforded  even  by  a  short 
journey  is  at  once  more  necessary  and  more  benefi 
cial  than  to  men.  The  every -day  work  of  nearly  all 
men  brings  them  into  contact  with  the  breezy,  out-doo.r 
world,  while  the  work  of  women  is  isolating,  if  not  ab 
solutely  solitaiy.  When  a  woman  starts  on  a  pleasure- 
trip,  she  leaves  the  whole  care  of  housekeeping  behind 
her,  without  assuming  new  cares.  Perhaps  few  men 
can  realize  what  a  positive  luxury  it  is  to  the  house 
mother  to  sit  down  to  a  meal  for  which  she  has  no  re 
sponsibility.  The  mere  fact  that  she  does  not  know 
beforehand  upon  what  meat  her  Cassar  and  herself  shall 
feed,  is  a  wondrous  appetizer.  Many  an  excellent  wom 
an  is  disagreeable  simply  because  she  is  wearied,  wor 
ried,  and  worn  with  too  long  spinning  in  one  groove. 
The  chain  ever  around  the  neck  galls  and  irritates. 
But  the  front  gate  clicks  behind  her;  she  takes  car  or 
coach;  she  no  longer  serves,  but  is  served;  the  perfect 
leisure  tranquilizes  her  strained  nerves;  the  new  sur 
roundings  awaken  her  dormant  interest.  Old  cares 


138  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOK 

drop  off  from  her,  mind  and  heart  are  revived  and  re 
freshed,  and  she  is  smiling,  and  kind,  and  agreeable,  be 
cause  she  is  her  true  self.  If  the  day  of  "Woman's 
Rights  ever  dawns  on  this  benighted  land,  the  first  law 
enacted  by  the  Woman's  Congress  should  be  that  every 
woman  shall  spend  one  month  of  every  year  away  from 
home.  And  if  the  law  shall  be  presently  amended  so 
as  not  to  include  visiting,  but  to  make  the  month's  ab 
sence  a  month  of  pure  journeying,  or  at  least  of  living 
among  entire  strangers,  so  much  the  better. 

And  here,  because  benevolence  is  all-comprehensive, 
let  us  put  in  a  word  for  that  long-suffering  class,  the 
unhappy  gentlemen  who  travel  without  ladies.  True, 
the  unsophisticated  mind  spontaneously  demands  what 
right  has  any  gentleman  to  be  traveling  without  ladies? 
and  to  that  query  it  would  not  be  easy  to  give  a  satis 
factory  reply;  but  gentlemen  do  sometimes  travel  with 
out  ladies,  and  in  that  case  are  put  to  the  torture  of  sec- 
ing  their  comrades  marching,  under  female  banners, 
into  clean  and  orderly  cars,  while  they  are  forced  for 
lorn  into  dens  of  smoking  and  swearing  and  all  un- 
cleanness,  such  as  the  natural  man  seems  to  revel  in 
when  left  to  his  own  devices,  unrestrained  by  female  in 
fluence.  Can  there  be  a  stronger  testimony  to  the  pow 
er  of  woman's  influence  than  the  misery  of  a  man  who 
has  been  reared  under  it,  and  is  doomed  for  a  time  to 
the  society  of  those  who  have  been  greatly  debarred 
from  it?  "It  is  hell, "says  a  devout  Swcdenborgian  of 
our  acquaintance;  and  when  you  are  in  a  railway-car 
with  a  man  given  to  tobacco,  and  not  well-bred,  3-011 
feel  that  the  Swcdenborgian  dialect  is  not  too  strong. 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS  OF  RAILROADS.  139 

There  is  much  reprehension  of  the  indifference  with 
which  female  travelers  receive  the  courtesies  of  men, 
and  there  is  doubtless  some  ground  for  reprehension ; 
but  the  combined  ingratitude  of  female  America  is  not 
so  great  an  offense,  and  does,  not  produce  so  much  dis 
comfort,  not  to  say  disgust,  as  does  the  use  of  tobacco 
by  a  part  of  the  male  traveling  public.  The  employ 
ment  of  smoking-cars  only  partially  remedies  the  evil, 
for  smoking  is  its  least  offensive  phase;  and  when  the 
Woman's  Congress  has  its  first  law  well  rooted  and 
grounded  in  the  habits  of  the  people,  it  may  go  on  im 
mediately  to  enact  and  enforce  the  second:  that  any 
man  who  so  disregards  the  proprieties  and  the  cleanli 
nesses  of  life  as  to  outrage  the  senses  of  his  neighbors, 
and  leave  the  floor  in  his  vicinage  unfit  for  occupancy, 
shall  be  forever  prohibited  from  public  vehicles  and 
forced  to  make  all  his  journeys  afoot! 

But  there  is  a  tide  in  the  opinions  as  well  as  in  the  af 
fairs  of  men,  and  that  tide  of  late  seems  to  have  set  rath 
er  strongly  against  female  politeness.  If  we  may  judge 
from  the  newspapers,  good  manners  in  public,  consider 
ation  for  others,  have  clean  gone  out  of  the  list  of  wom 
an's  charms.  The  sweet,  gentle  angel  of  poetry  and 
sentiment,  the  creature  too  bright  and  good  for  human 
nature's  daily  food,  has  folded  her  white  wings,  and 
there  reigns  in  her  stead  a  selfish,  scowling,  exacting  fe 
male  man,  who  keeps  what  she  gets  and  gets  what  she 
can ;  who  ignores  rights,  disdains  thanks,  and  frowns 
with  only  less  severity  upon  him  who  proffers  than 
upon  him  who  withholds  the  only  scat  in  the  crowded 


140  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

We  all  know  the  calmness,  the  justice,  the  impartial 
ity  of  the  press,  and  from  its  decision  there  is  no  appeal. 
If  the  newspapers  affirm  that  women  in  transilu  are 
rude  and  selfish,  rude  and  selfish  they  must  be,  for 

"Who  can  contend  with  his  lords?" 

But  is  not  a  pardonable  abstraction,  a  nervous  anxiety, 
sometimes  mistaken  for  unpardonable  incivility?  A 
man  relinquishes  his  seat  to  a  woman,  she  accepts  it 
without  acknowledgment,  and  down  it  goes  as  another 
instance  of  ungraceful  and  ungracious  manners.  It  may 
not  be  sublime  good  manners,  but  bethink  you,  oh!-  man 
and  brother,  who  go  your  railroad  journey  of  twenty 
miles  every  morning  to  your  business  and  every  even 
ing  to  your  home,  and  to  whom  a  railroad  journey  is 
no  more  than  stepping  from  your  parlor  to  your  dining- 
room,  this  wayward  sister,  whose  ingratitude  has  pierced 
you  so  much  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth,  had  to  wind 
up  the  whole  house  to  run  a  day  without  her  before  she 
started.  Then  she  was  hurried  with  dressing.  She  had 
water -proof,  parasol,  and  reticule,  to  begin  with,  and 
has  innumerable  small  parcels  before  the  day  is  over; 
she  stepped  on  her  gown  stumbling  up  the  car-steps, 
her  flounces  were  shut  into  the  door  as  she  entered,  her 
fringe  was  caught  by  some  projection  of  the  sofas,  the 
paper  around  Jenny's  hat  is  coming  unpinned,  and  the 
roll  of  calico  is  slipping  from  its  string.  She  will  cer 
tainly  fall  a  victim  to  irresistible  centrifugal  law  if  she 
can  not  have  a  basis  of  operation  to  concentrate  her 
scattering  forces,  and  she  is  immensely  relieved  by  your 
offer  of  a  scat.  Of  course  it  is  a  thousand  pities  that 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS  OF  RAILROADS. 

she  does  not  thank  you,  but  is  it  not  weakness  rather 
than  wickedness? 

But  there  are  plenty  of  women — young,  assured,  and 
self-possessed — who  are  equally  inconsiderate. 

Yes,  I  saw  two  of  them  not  long  ago  in  an  omnibus, 
handsome,  hale,  well-dressed,  sitting  at  the  head  of  the 
omnibus  engrossed  in  conversation.  Three  men  were  on 
the  same  seat,  and  two  men  and  three  women  on  the  op 
posite  seat.  A  gentleman  opened  the  door — one  of  those 
good-humored,  good-looking  creatures  who  carry  sun 
shine  with  them,  large  in  person  and  sympathy,  at  home 
everywhere.  He  surveyed  the  scene  a  moment,  counted 
aloud  blithely,  "  one,  two,  three,  four,  five,"  on  each  side, 
and  with  great  good  sense  bestowed  himself  on  the  side 
on  which  the  male  element  predominated.  The  two 
women  were  so  engaged  that  they  did  not  notice  his 
entrance,  and  in  no  wise  contracted  their  amplitude. 
Of  course,  the  men  were  rather  crowded.  But  it  is  of 
no  consequence  if  men  are  crowded.  They  have  no 
ruffles  to  crush,  no  lace  to  tear,  and  their  hats  are  over 
head.  These  men  were  as  they  ought  to  be — good-na 
tured — but  they  grimaced  and  contorted,  and  stretched 
their  heads  in  mock  mute  appeal  toward  the  uncon 
scious  women ;  and  above  the  rumbling  and  rattling 
one  could  hear  praiseworthy  snatches  of  sentiment,  "  it's 
their  privilege,"  "  our  rulers."  Such  sweetness  deserved 
recognition,  and  a  passenger  suggested  that  the  ladies- 
were  unaware  of  theirposition,  and  would  move  at  a  word. 

"  Just  as  comfortable  as  in  my  own  house,"  gasped 
the  hero ;  but  at  that  moment  the  ladies  became  con 
scious  of  the  situation,  and  immediate!  v  made  room. 


14:2  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LE3IOS. 

I  admit  that  perfect  politeness  is  never  unaware  of 
situations;  but  imperfect  politeness  is  of  a  wholly  dif 
ferent  nature — is  it  not? — from  positive  rudeness. 

"You're  another!"  is  the  argument  as  well  as  the 
phrase  of  savages.  Wherefore  let  us  be  savages  for  a 
little  while. 

On  certain,  perhaps  on  all,  ferry-boats,  one  side  is 
placarded  as  the  "Ladies'  Cabin,"  and  one  side  as  the 
"Gents'  Cabin."  Besides  this,  additional  notices  with 
in  tell  you  that  "ladies  have  the  first  right  to  seats  in 
this  cabin."  Yet  have  I,  time  and  again,  seen  a  row 
of  men  sitting  in  this  cabin,  reading  their  newspapers, 
•while  women  were  standing  by  in  groups,  unable  to 
find  a  seat.  "Worse  than  this:  I  have  seen  women 
standing  with  babies  in  their  arms  while  men  occupied 
the  seats!  Now,  as  against  a  woman  with  a  baby,  men 
have  no  rights  which  heaven  or  earth  is  bound  to  re 
spect.  What  name,  then,  shall  we  give  to  that  mass  of 
organic  life  which  plunders  for  itself  the  seat  that  of 
right  belongs  to  such  a  woman  ? 

"But  women  want  to  vote,"  you  say,  great-hearted 
gentlemen.  "They  want  to  go  into  the  trades  and  fill 
the  offices,  and  do  as  men  do.  Let  them,  then,  try  it  in 
all  its  length  and  breadth.  They  must  take  the  chances 
just  as  men  take  them.  They  must  not  expect  to  act 
like  men  and  be  treated  like  women." 

Infatuated  men !  here  is  where  the  pit  opens  its 
mouth  and  swallows  you  down,  and  }-ou  have  not  a 
foot  left  to  stand  on,  and  no  place  to  plant  one  if  you 
had  as  many  as  a  centipede.  Women  want  to  vote, 
you  say,  and  therefore  they  shall  rough  it.  But  they 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS  OF  RAILROADS.  143 

do  not  vote.  You  have  not  yet  granted  them  the  vote, 
whether  they  want  it  or  not.  You  are  double  and 
twisted  tyrants ;  when  women  complain  of  the  tale  of 
bricks,  you  do  not  diminish  the  tale,  but  you  take  away 
the  straw,  and  say,  "This  is  what  you  want,  is  it?  See 
how  you  like  it!"  Do  you  think  that  is  calculated  to 
inspire  a  woman  with  a  respect  for  your  sense  of  justice? 
We  have  heard  of  hanging  a  man  first,  and  trying  him 
afterward ;  but  these  women  you  hang  first,  and  try  not 
at  all.  When  women  actually  vote,  they  may  suffer  the 
penalty  of  voting;  but  when  you  thus  anticipate  dis 
ease  with  your  brimstone  and  treacle,  O  generation  of 
Squeerses !  you  add  to  your  despotism  hypocrisy. 

Do  you  complain  that  women  do  not  thank  you  for 
3'our  relinquished  seats?  You  have  no  claim  upon 
their  thanks.  You  have  no  right  to  the  seats.  Not  a 
man  in  any  public  conveyance  has  a  right  to  a  seat  so 
long  as  a  woman  stands.  Chivalry  ?  Not  at  all !  It 
is  naked  justice.  You  arrogate  to  yourselves  the  man 
agement  of  all  modes  of  travel.  You  permit  women 
no  voice  therein.  You  charter  all  the  companies.  You 
have  the  right  and  the  power  to  compel  these  compa 
nies  to  furnish  seats  to  all  their  passengers.  You  do 
nothing  of  the  sort.  You  are  dogs  in  the  manger.  You 
will  neither  provide  seats  for  female  passengers,  nor  will 
you  suffer  them  to  provide  seats  for  themselves.  You 
force  a  woman  into  the  attitude  of  the  recipient  of  a  fa 
vor  where  she  has  really  paid  full  market  price.  Ask 
her  to  thank  you  for  giving  you  her  seat?  You  might 
better  thank  her  for  not  ejecting  you  from  the  car.  It  is 
asking  her  to  kiss  the  rod  which  ought  to  be  laid  about 


144  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON, 

your  own  shoulders.  The  man  who  does  not  give  up 
his  se.it  to  a  woman  is  simply  dead  in  trespasses  and 
sins.  The  man  who  does  give  up  his  seat  is  only  so  far 
alive  as  to  proclaim  himself  an  unprofitable  servant:  he 
has  done  only  a  fractional  part  of  that  which  it  was  his 
duty  to  do. 

I  would,  indeed,  that  a  woman  should  always  accept 
these  duties  with  the  voice,  the  smile,  the  gesture  of 
thanks;  but  I  would  that  men  sl.or.ld  always  under 
stand  that  she  does  not  mean  any  thing  by  it!  I  would 
have  her  do  it  because  it  is  graceful,  and  grace  is  in 
stinctive,  and  not  reasoning.  The  polite  hangman  did 
not  apologize  to  the  culprit  whom  he  was  about  to  drop 
off  because  there  was  any  thing  to  apologize  for.  I 
would  have  women  so  innately,  so  organically,  so  help 
lessly  high-bred,  that  they  should  smile  and  smile  even 
upon  the  villains  who,  by  their  own  action,  aid  and  abet 
the  crowding  of  railroad  trains.  Moreover,  if  reason 
be  admissible  where  impulse  is  the  only  saving  grace, 
so  great  is  the  power  of  courtesy  that  I  dare  say  men 
will  sooner  be  brought  to  a  sense  of  guilt  by  receiving- 
undeserved  mercy  than  severe  justice.  People  in  the 
country  are  often  annoyed  by  peddlers,  frequent  in  vis 
its  and  voluble  in  proffers.  As  these  peddlers  are  hu 
man  beings,  whom  we  must  assume  to  be  engaged  in 
an  honest  calling,  it  is  difficult  to  see  why  they  should 
not  be  courteously  met  But  apart  from  the  fact  that  it 
is  pleasanter  to  be  pleasant,  I  have  ever  observed  that 
your  peddler  is  more  easily  gotten  rid  of  by  smiles  than 
frowns.  To  the  fro  ward  he  is  very  apt  to  show  himself 
froward  ;  but  he  is  speedily  smothered  with  sweetness. 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS  OF  RAILROADS.  145 

So  let  women  be  always  and  everywhere  gracious, 
because  God  hath  made  them  so ;  but  let  that  gracious- 
ness  be  to  men  a  means  of  grace,  and  not  an  engine  of 
destruction.  When  women  are  allowed  to  vote  it  will 
be  time  to  talk  about  letting  them  stand  in  public  car 
riages  ;  but  until  then  the  least  a  man  can  do  is  to  lie 
with  his  hand  on  his  mouth,  and  his  mouth  in  the  dust, 
till  every  woman  is  comfortably  seated. 

The  tradition  that  men  always  do  resign  to  women 
their  seats  in  public  carriages  may  as  well  yield  to  the 
established  fact  that  they  do  not.  Voting  or  no  voting,, 
it  is  very  common  to  see  men  sitting  and  women  stand 
ing  in  the  horse-cars,  and  it  is  a  sight  not  unseen  in 
steam-cars.  In  and  about  Boston  the  rule  seems  to  be, 
"  first  come  first  served."  The  cars  are  daily  filled  to 
their  utmost  capacity — seats,  aisles,  and  platforms;  and 
a  woman  takes  her  chance  with  the  rest.  In  New  York, 
I  think,  she  fares  better;  in  Philadelphia,  better  still; 
while  in  Washington  the  traveling  mind  has  been  train 
ed  to  a  politeness  which  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired. 

The  excuse  of  recreant  knights,  those  Bayards  suffer 
ing  fear  and  deprecating  reproach — their  excuse  until 
they  bethought  themselves  of  the  suffrage — is,  that  they 
are  tired.  They  have  been  on  duty  all  day,  and  their 
fatigue  is  such  that  they  do  not  feel  bound  to  yield  their 
rest  in  favor  of  women  who,  for  aught  they  know,  are 
simply  amusing  themselves  with  shopping  or  jaunting. 

And  this  is  a  comparatively  valid  excuse.  At  least, 
it  is  not  depravity  so  total  as  is  involved  in  what  one 
is  tempted  to  call  the  voting  dodge.  Only  say  it  out 
boldly,  and  stand  by  it.  To  be  sure,  dear  sirs,  you 

7 


14:6  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

confess  yourselves  shambling  and  ineffective.  It  im 
plies  that  you  give  in  to  railroad  corporations,  and  visit 
upon  women  the  consequences  of  your  cowardice  and 
your  weakness.  But,  with  all  your  faults — and  their 
name  is  legion — women  love}'ou  still,  sitting  still  even, 
and  pity  you  infinitely  ;  and  if  you  will  frankly  say,  and 
confine  yourself  to  saying,  that  you  are  tired,  although 
you  are  not  half  so  tired  as  they  —  will  throw  your 
self  on  their  compassion,  even  when  you  ought  to  launch 
out  for  reform  instead,  they  will  not  only  pity  you,  but 
— such  is  the  unreasoning  and  unspeakable  forbearance 
of  female  human  nature — ten  to  one  they  will  urge  you 
to  retain  or  resume  your  seat,  and  count  you  a  hero  and 
martyr  into  the  bargain.  But  do  not  be  hypocritical 
and  pharisaical,  and  call  it  even-handed  justice.  Do 
not  lay  to  woman  suffrage  what  springs  only  from  man- 
suffering. 

But  neither  chivalry  nor  justice  requires  that  a  wom 
an  shall  occupy  two  seats  in  a  railway-carriage  when 
she  has  paid  for  only  one,  says  her  male  censor.  Yet  a 
woman  will  coolly  bestow  herself  and  her  belongings 
upon  the  whole  sofa,  while  gentlemen  walk  up  and 
down  the  aisle  searching  vainly  for  a  seat. 

If  I  were  not  obstinately  bent  on  being  reasonable, 
moderate,  and  far  within  bounds,  on  making  no  asser 
tion  which  any  right-minded  man  would  refuse  to  ad 
mit  at  first  sight,  I  would  say  that  such  an  arrangement 
is  no  more  than  fair.  Look  at  the  flounces,  the  over- 
skirts,  the  paniers,  the  ribbons,  wherewithal  men  over 
load  women,  or — to  change  the  name  but  keep  the  pain 
— wherewith  social  exigency  overloads  women,  and  then 


- 

• 

THE  HIGHER  LA  WS  OF  RAILROADS.  147 

say  if  twice  the  space  allotted  to  men  is  not  a  very 
modest  estimate  of  what  women  need.  I  am  quite  con 
fident  that  if  men  should  devise  for  themselves  a  similar 
garb,  they  would  be  quite  as  blind  'as  women  to  super 
fluous  passengers  wandering  about  in  search  of  a  seat. 

But  we  will  lay  no  stress  on  that.  We  will  admit 
that  women,  like  men,  have  a  right  only  to  the  seat 
they  have  bought;  and  then  I  ask,  how  many  times 
since  the  existence  of  railroads  in  this  country  has  it 
happened  that  a  woman  has  refused  or  has  churlishly 
consented  to  relinquish  the  space  which  did  not  belong 
to  her?  One  would  suppose  sometimes  that  it  was  the 
common  rule.  It  is  not  necessarily  uncivil  or  ill-bred 
for  a  woman  not  to  offer  her  sofa,  uncalled  for,  to  an 
able-bodied  man.  If  there  is  no  seat  in  this  car,  per 
haps  there  is  in  the  next;  and  it  is  far  less  trouble  for 
him  to  go  to  it  than  for  her  to  shrink  into  the  compass 
of  half  a  sofa.  If  the  other  places  are  all  occupied,  and 
the  gentleman,  by  a  word  or  even  a  look,  signifies  his 
desire  for  the  one  she  holds,  she  seldom  dreams  of  doing 
any  thing  but  resign  it  at  once,  without  a  protest,  with 
out  even  a  thought.  If  there  are  women  otherwise 
minded,  I  have  nothing  to  say  for  them.  Let  them  be 
given  up  immediately  to  fire  and  sword.  But  it  is  not 
a  deadly  sin  for  a  woman  to  be  staring  out  of  a  win 
dow,  with  calm,  eternal  eyes,  while  a  few  superfluous 
men  are  walking  up  and  down  seeking  whom  they  may 
devour. 

It  is  not  half  so  atrocious  as  what  I  have  frequently 
seen — a  man  enter  a  car  where  a  dozen  men  were  oc 
cupying  the  sofas  alone,  and  deliberatel}7-  place  himself 


148  TWELVE  MILES  F&OX  A  LE.VOX. 

beside  a  woman!  That  is  pure  malice.  The  golden 
rule  requires  that  never  a  woman  shall  be  disturbed  in 
the  possession  of  her  sofa  till  every  man  has  been  dis 
turbed  in  his.  This  is  not  chivalry.  It  is  simply  folds 
and  flounces.  If  any  man  finds  this  unreasonable,  let 
him  take  it  on  trust.  One  hour  of  the  folds  and 
flounces  himself  would  establish,  him  in  the  truth  for 
ever. 

So  have  I  seen  on  the  ferry-boats,  to  which  I  have 
before  referred,  men  occupying  women's  seats  when 
their  own  empty  ones  were  distinctly  visible  on  the  op 
posite  side.  What  infatuation  possesses  you,  men  and 
brethren,  thus  to  rush  out  of  your  sphere?  Why  not 
stay  with  your  kind,  and  leave  women  to  themselves? 
A  woman  can  neither  refresh  nor  revenge  herself  by 
going  over  to  your  side  of  the  boat.  You  poach  on 
her  manor  without  fear  of  reprisals ;  and  if  she  does  not 
gush  forth  gratitude  when  you  offer  late  and  scant  jus 
tice,  you  send  a  paragraph  to  the  newspapers  bemoan 
ing  the  deterioration  of  female  manners! 

"Fleet  foot  on  the  correi, 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber, 
lied  hand  in  the  foray, 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber," 

when  thine  own  small  sins  pass  before  thee ! 

Alas!  one  woman  among  a  thousand  have  I  seen. 
She  was  well  dressed,  and  to  the  casual  glance  looked 
like  a  lady.  She  had  pre-empted  four  seats  in  the 
crowded  car.  I  had  followed  a  brilliant  friend  into  the 
train  for  the  pleasure  of  half  an  hour's  chat.  My  friend 
was  standing  by  the  empty  seats,  running  up  a  flag  of 


- 

THE  HIGHER  LAWS   OF  RAILROADS.  149 

distress.  "  There  are  no  seats  to  be  bad  but  these,  and 
these  are  not  to  be  had.  Engaged." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  an  incredulous  gentleman  near. 
"I  have  been  waiting  half  an  hour,  and  nobody  has 
been  in  during  that  time." 

I  remembered  the  precepts  and  example  of  an  elder 
in  Israel,  for  such  case  made  and  provided,  and  said 
blandly :  "  We  will  occupy  the  seats  till  your  friends 
come,  with  your  permission."  The  lady  made  no  reply. 
She  gave  no  sign  of  assent.  Not  a  smile  flitted  across 
her  face.  On  the  contrary,  she  assumed  a  severity  of 
aspect  that  would  strike  a  chill  to  the  warmest  heart. 
Her  silence  became  sonorous  with  disapprobation.  The 
very  corn-sheaves  of  her  bonnet  bristled  with  displeas 
ure.  Seeing  that  we  were  about  to  be  annihilated,  we 
took  our  lives  in  our  hands,  and  turned  the  back  of  the 
seat  so  that  we  .should  not  be  forced  to  confront  that 
awful  visage,  adding,  apologetically,  "When  your  friends 
come,  the  seat  shall  be  turned  back  again."  But  no  re 
lenting  softened  the  outlines  of  the  stern  countenance. 
Then  we  began  our  longed-for  talk,  and  the  minutes 
flew,  and  the  engine  snorted,  and  the  train  gave  its  in 
itiative  jerk,  and  we  rolled  out  of  the  grumbling  arid 
smoky  station ;  and  then  came  up  a  young  man,  one 
young  man,  to  the  lady  behind  us — only  one  young 
man,  and  no  more.  Thereupon  I  turned  to  the  disap 
pointed  lady,  and  said,  meekly,  "  Your  friends  have  not 
come?" 

Then  and  there  broke  out  the  irrepressible  conflict. 
Forth  from  the  irate  lips,  with  a  deliberation  of  utter 
ance,  with  an  asperity  of  tone,  and  an  acerbity  of  ges- 


150  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

ture,  of  which  mortal  pen  can  give  little  notion,  and  un 
der  which  a  terrified  soul  still  shivers,  came  the  deci 
sive  answer, 

"They— have— NOT!" 

Nothing  but  conscious  innocence  could  sustain  one 
in  this  trying  ordeal. 

Now  that  I  have  told  the  story,  I  hardly  believe  it, 
for  the  woman  herself,' with  her  causeless  pugnacity, 
her  harsh  tones,  and  her  theatric  head-tossings,  seemed 
like  a  character  just  stepped  out  of  Diekens's  novels, 
rather  than  like  a  flesh-and-blood  woman  going  home 
to  husband  and  children,  and  sitting-room  and  supper. 

Oh,  my  soul !  come  thou  into  her  secret,  if  such  a 
thing  may  be.  What  are  the  views  of  life  held  by  such 
a  one?  More  particularly,  what  are  her  -views  of  car- 
sofas,  and  the  rights  of  the  road  ?  When  one  buys  a 
ticket,  he  is  strictly  entitled  to  one  seat — no  more.  Is 
any  person  legally  entitled  to  a  seat  he  does  not  occu 
py  ?  Suppose  we  go  into  the  smoking-car,  or  the  bag 
gage-car,  or  take  a  ride  on  the  engine;  docs  our  right 
to  the  seat  in  the  ordinary  car  not  lapse?  If  not,  then 
one  ticket  entitles  the  holder  to  two  places :  one  in  the 
smoking-car,  and  one  in  the  ordinary  car,  while  his  un 
lucky  neighbor  is  perhaps  obliged  to  stand.  On  the 
contrary,  one  ticket  entitles  the  holder  to  one  seat, 
which  is  his  only  while  he  occupies  it.  His  coat,  his 
hat,  his  newspaper,  constitute  his  valid  claim  when  he 
returns,  but  do  not  forbid  his  Weary  neighbor  to  occupy 
it  without  discourtesy  while  he  is  gone.  Wherefore, 
let  us  hope  that  time  and  reflection  will  soften  the  judg 
ment  of  our  nsrsrrieved  countrv-woman,  and  that  she  will 


. 

"  THE  HIGHER  LAWS  OF  RAILROADS.  151 

not  go  down  to  her  grave  accounting  us  banditti  and 
interlopers,  Goths  and  Vandals,  preying  upon  the  un 
protected,  and  reckless  of  all  law  but  might. 

I  do  not  mind  confessing  that  any  fall  from  grace  on 
the  part  of  a  woman  is  more  grievous  than  a  similar  fall 
in  a  man.  Not  that  women  are  under  stronger  bonds 
than  men  to  keep  the  peace.  Not  one  jot  or  tittle  of 
a  man's  duty  shall  be  remitted !  Yet  it  remains,  that 
though  a  man's  discourtesy  may  be  repulsive,  it  does 
not  becloud  the  sun  in  the  heavens.  But  where  a 
woman  is  uncivil,  the  very  in-ward  light  is  turned  to 
darkness. 

There  are  certain  points  of  good  manners  in  which 
women  fail,  which  yet  seem  to  have  been  greatly  over 
looked  by  their  censors.  Perhaps  we  ought  not  to  say 
women,  for  the  class  is  undoubtedly  small ;  but  the  one 
woman  who  behaves  badly  attracts  more  attention  than 
the  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  well  disposed;  and 
when  even  one  woman  falls  below  the  proper  standard, 
all  women  seem,  somehow,  to  be  humiliated  thereby. 

In  connection  with  our  public  schools  there  is  spring 
ing  up  a  school  of  ungracefulness  and  indelicacy  which, 
to  my  thinking,  goes  far  to  neutralize  the  good  wrought 
by  the  former.  Groups  of  girls  travel  daily  from  the 
country  villages,  three,  five,  ten  miles  over  the  steam 
and  horse  railroads,  to  the  normal  and  high  schools  of 
the  city,  and  return  at  night.  What  is  cause  and  what 
is  effect  I  do  not  know ;  but  these  girls  sometimes  con 
duct  themselves  so  rudely  as  to  force  upon  one  the  con 
viction  that  it  would  be  better  for  women  not  to  know 
the  alphabet,  if  they  must  take  on  so  much  roughness 


152  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

along  with  it.  Typical  American  girls,  pretty,  gentle- 
faced,  intelligent -looking,  well-dressed,  will  fill  a  car 
with  idle,  vulgar,  boisterous  chatter.  Out  of  rosy,  deli 
cate  lips  come  the  voices — of  draymen,  I  was  about  to 
say,  but  that  is  not  true;  for  the  voices  of  these  girls 
are  like  nothing  in  the  heavens  above  or  the  earth 
beneath.  The  only  quality  of  womanliness  they  possess 
is  weakness.  Without  depth,  richness,  or  force,  they 
are  thin,  harsh,  inevitable.  They  do  not  so  much  fill 
the  space  as  they  penetrate  it.  Three  or  four  such  girls 
will  gather  face  to  face,  and  from  beginning  to  end  of 
their  journey  pour  forth  a  ceaseless  torrent  of  giddy 
gabble,  utterly  regardless  of  any  other  presence  than 
their  own.  They  will  talk  of  their  teachers  and  school 
mates  by  name,  of  their  parties  and  plans,  of  their  stud 
ies,  their  dresses,  their  most  personal  and  private  mat 
ters,  with  an  extravagance,  with  an  incohereney,  with 
an  inelegance  and  coarseness  of  phraseology,  which  is 
disgraceful  alike  to  their  schools  and  to  their  homes. 
They  will  compel'without  scruple  and  bear  without 
flinching  the  eyes  of  a  whole  carriage-load  of  passen 
gers.  Indeed,  the  notice  of  strangers  seems  sometimes 
to  be  the  inspiration  of  their  noisy,  unmelodious  clatter. 
They  apparently  think  that  this  is  to  be  sprightly,  arch, 
high-spirited,  and  winning,  not  perceiving  that  a  really 
high-toned  and  high-bred  girl  would  as  soon  jump  over 
a  stick  in  a  circus  as  turn  herself  into  such  a  spectacle. 
There  is  nothing  winning  about  it.  The  absolute  ex 
travagance  and  nonsense  of  it  will  sometimes  excite  a 
smile  from  thoughtlessness,  but  it  is  a  smile  less  com 
plimentary  than  a  frown.  No  amount  of  acquisition, 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS  OF  RAILROADS.  153 

no  mental  training,  can  atone  for  such  demeanor.  If 
the  two  are  incompatible,  it  is  better  for  a  woman  not  to 
know  the  multiplication  table  than  not  to  be  gentle- 
mannered.  If  a  woman  is  vulgarly  prononce,  the  more 
she  knows  the  worse.  I  could  sometimes  wish  that  our 
far- famed  schools  would  stop  their  algebra,  stop  their 
Latin,  stop  their  philosophies,  and  give  their  undivided 
attention  to  teaching  their  pupils  how  to  talk.  It  may 
not  be  possible  to  make  them  talk  sense,  but  surely 
they  can  be  made  to  talk  nonsense  gracefully.  Not 
all  can  have  musical  voices ;  but,  upon  pain  of  death,  I 
would  have  girls  taught  to  speak  low.  Training  can 
do  much  in  the  way  of  melody  and  sweetness,  but  a 
voice  that  is  softly  modulated  can  not  be  violently  dis 
agreeable.  And  if  a  girl's  tongue  is  incorrigible,  let  her 
be  dispossessed  of  it  altogether. 

The  pronunciation  and  the  rhetoric  of  these  girls  are 
a  disgrace  to  their*  elders.  Words  and  syllables  are 
clipped,  twisted,  run  together,  mingled,  mangled,  and 
muddled  into  a  dialect  fit  for  savages.  Girls  who  can 
read  Virgil  and  calculate  an  eclipse  will  employ  in  con 
versation  a  jargon  that  would  stamp  them  with  the 
stamp  of  intolerable  vulgarity  at  any  well-bred  dinner- 
table.  What  cruelty,  what  waste  is  this!  It  is  so  easy 
not  to  offend,  it  is  so  hard  not  to  be  stupid.  It  is  so 
unimportant  to  be  learned,  it  is  so  indispensable  to  be 
well-mannered.  Why  give  time  and  pains  unmeasured 
to  mental  acquisition,  and  then  neutralize  it  all  by  a 
ruffianly  exterior?  Why  cast  an  odium  upon  education 
by  associating  it  with  uncouthness? 

There  are   disadvantages  worse   than  these,  if  any 


154  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

thing  can  be  worse,  in  sending  girls  to  school  over 
the  railroads.  They  somehow  become  common.  They 
cheapen  themselves.  They  lose,  if  they  ever  possessed, 
they  destroy  before  they  are  old  enough  to  feel,  the  di 
vinity  that  should  hedge  a  woman.  They  fall  into — I 
can  hardly  dignify  it  with  the  name  of  flirtation — but 
into  a  sort  of  bantering  communication  with  unknown 
men,  employes  of  the  railroad,  and  season  travelers — a 
traffic  which  is  fatal  to  dignity  in  woman,  and  inspires 
no  reverence  in  man.  And  this  passes  for  liveliness 
and  attractiveness,  or  at  most,  perhaps,  it  is  being  a  lit 
tle  wild.  But  it  is  a  wildness  which  girls  can  not  afford. 
Delicacy  is  not  a  thing  which  can  be  lost  and  found. 
No  art  can  restore  to  the  grape  its  bloom ;  and  the  su 
preme  charm  of  the  grape  is  its  bloom.  Familiarity 
without  love,  without  confidence,  without  regard,  is  de 
structive  to  all  that  makes  woman  exalting  and  enno 
bling. 

There  are  other  displays  of  ill  manners  which  are  al 
most  incredible.  Girls  will  sit  with  their  faces  toward 
the  passengers,  and  eat  oranges  in  the  most  sloven 
ly,  but  the  most  unconcerned,  manner,  and  then  pelt 
each,  other  with  bits  of  peel  across  the  aisle.  They  will 
scatter  the  crumbs  and  paper  of  their  lunch  over  the 
floor  and  sofas.  I  have  seen  the  clean,  tidy  waiting- 
room  of  the  railroad  station  strewn  with  pea-nut  shells 
— not  always,  I  fear,  by  women  young  enough  to  be 
called  girls.  Such  things  are  simply  disgusting.  Clean 
liness,  order,  propriety,  are  not  local  or  incidental  qual 
ities.  They  are  inherent,  inbred.  A  lady  will  no  sooner 
be  untidy  in  one  place  than  in  another.  She  will  no 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS   OF  RAILROADS.  15o 

more  throw  nut-shells  on  the  bare  floor  of  a  station- 
room  than  on  her  own  parlor  carpet.  She  will  no 
sooner  thrust  a  penknife  into  the  leather  lining  of  the 
station  sofa  than  she  would  into  the  velvet  upholstery 
of  her  own. 

"  The  world  is  wide,  these  things  are  small ; 
They  may  he  nothing,  but  they  are  all." 

Nothing?  It  is  the  first  duty  of  woman  to  be  a  lady. 
The  woman  who  says  that  this  is  making  much  ado 
about  nothing  is  the  woman  who  will  accost  you  by 
name,  when  you  enter  a  car,  in  a  tone  that  introduces 
you  to  every  person  in  it,  and  makes  you  wish  that  the 
part  she  occupies  had  run  -off  the  track  at  the  last 
bridge.  She  is  the  woman  who,  under  the  pretext  of 
conversing  with  one  or  two  friends,  informs  the  whole 
car  company  of  her  views  on  woman's  rights  and  her 
relations  with  her  husband.  She  is  the  woman  who,  in 
a  public  assembly,  when  we  are  all  momentarily  expect 
ing  the  lecturer  or  the  singer  to  enter,  rises  in  her  place, 
fronts  the  audience,  and  stands  two  minutes  waiting  for 
or  beckoning  to  some  Sarah  Jane  to  join  her.  Good- 
breeding  is  good  sense.  Bad  manners  in  woman  is  im 
morality.  Awkwardness  may  be  ineradicable.  Bash- 
fulness  is  constitutional.  Ignorance  of  etiquette  is  the 
result  of  circumstances.  All  can  be  condoned,  and  do 
not  banish  man  or  woman  from  the  amenities  of  his 
kind.  But  self-possessed,  unshrinking,  and  aggressive 
coarseness  of  demeanor  may  be  reckoned  a  State  prison 
offense,  and  certainly  merits  that  mild  form  of  restraint 
called  imprisonment  for  life. 


156  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

We  have  not  forgotten  the  paragraphs  written  at  the 
time  of  the  visit  of  the  Grand  Duke  Alexis.  More  than 
one  newspaper  read  lectures  to  our  women  on  proprie 
ty  of  behavior.  The  Grand  Duke,  they  said,  was  ac 
customed  to  see  ladies  wait  at  home,  and  not  go  out  be 
yond  their  thresholds  into  the  harbor  to  receive  their 
visitors.  "Blush  a  little;  the  Prince  is  used  to  it," 
breathed  some  anxious  Mentor  to  the  girls,  when  the 
young  Prince  Arthur  was  feted  through  the  country ; 
and  common  report  put  a  more  than  lady-like  importu 
nity  into  the  requests  of  some  mammas  for  opportunity 
for  themselves  and  their  daughters  to  dance  with  the 
Prince  of  Wales.  Every  such  suggestion  is  an  indig 
nity.  It  is  a  shame  for  women  to  be  lectured  on  their 
manners.  It  is  a  bitter  shame  that  they  need  it. 
Women  ought  to  give  the  law,  not  learn  it.  Women 
are  the  umpires  of  society.  It  is  they  to  whom  all  def 
erence  should  be  paid,  to  whom  all  moot  points  should 
be  referred.  To  be  a  lady  is  more  than  to  be  a  prince. 
A  lady  is  always  in  her  own  right  inalienably  worthy 
of  respect.  To  a  lady,  prince,  and  peasant  alike  bow. 
How  can  a  woman  be  willing,  for  the  sake  of  gratifying 
an  idle  cariosity  or  a  petty  pride,  still  less  an  inordi 
nate  self-seeking,  how  can  she  be  willing  to  sacrifice  the 
modesty,  the  reticence,  the  digni.t}r,. which  should  always 
characterize  her?  And  yet.  this  is  a  point  on  which 
words  are  useless.  The  papers  may  say  to  women,  in 
rough  or  fine  phrase,  "Stay  at  home,  and  do  not  throw 
yourselves  into  the  arms  of  princes;  be  quiet  and  dig 
nified  on  your  journeys,"  but  that  is  not  enough.  We 
do  not  wish  women  to  be  such  that  the  papers  shall  so 


THE  HIGHER  LAWS  OF  RAILROADS.  157 

speak.  Do  not  be  restrained.  Do  not  Lave  impulses 
that  need  restraint.  Do  not  wish  to  dance  with  the 
Prince  unsought ;  feel  differently.  Be  such  that  you  con 
fer  honor.  Carry  yourselves  so  loftily  that  men  shall 
look  to  you  for  reward,  not  at  you  in  rebuke.  The 
natural  sentiment  of  man  toward  woman  is  reverence. 
He  loses  a  large  means  of  grace  when  he  is  obliged 
to  account  her  a  being  to  be  trained  into  propriety. 
A  man's  ideal  is  not  wounded  when  a  woman  fails  in 
worldly  wisdom;  but  if  in  grace,  in  tact,  in  sentiment, 
in  delicacy,  in  kindliness,  she  be  found  wanting,  he  re 
ceives  an  inward  hurt.  Therefore,  oh  !  women  greatly 
beloved  and  greatly  preached  at — if  not  for  courtesy's 
own  sweet  sake,  still  for  love's  sake,  for  humanity's 
sake,  for  the  sake  of  the  poor,  strong,  untutored  men 
who  will  die  in  their  roughness  unless  you  polish  them, 
who  will  go  mourning  all  their  days  for  an  ideal  unless 
yon  rise  stately  and  commanding  before  them ;  who, 
for  every  inch  of  lapse  from  }TOU,  will  take  an  ell  of  li 
cense  for  themselves,  and  out  of  the  frogs  and  toads 
which  drop  from  your  lips  in  idle  moments  will  con 
struct  a  whole  menagerie  of  unclean  beasts,  to  their  own 
undoing — we  pray  you  be  so  courteously  affectioned 
one  toward  another,  in  honor  preferring  one  another, 
be  so  faultless  and  so  compelling  toward  the  helpless 
sex,  which  looks  to  you.  for  guidance,  that  a  man  shall 
no  more  think  of  prescribing  rules  or  throwing  out 
hints  for  your  behavior  than  of  regulating  the  stars 
in  their  courses;  but  rather  as  the  shipwrecked  mar 
iner  finds  his  hope  and  lafety  in  the  stars,  so  man — 
whom  it  is  alwavs  safe  to  consider  as  more  or  less  a 


158  TWELVE  JULES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

shipwreck — while  employing  all  his  energy  in  steer 
ing  his  crazy  craft  through  the  wild  waves,  shall  only 
need  to  keep  his  eyes  fixed  on  you  to  know  that  he 
is  going  by  a  straight  course  to  the  haven  where  he 
\vould  be ! 


HO  LID  A  YS.  159 


X. 

H  OLID  A  YS. 

ONCE  there  was  a  little  girl  who  would  Lave  been 
very  happy  with  her  two  doll  children,  Emilius  Alvah 
and  Mary  Maria,  but  for  the  sad  thought  which  under 
lay  all  her  enjoyment  that  a  time  was  corning  when  she 
could  no  longer  play  with  dolls.  Grown  people  had  no 
dolls.  What  there  could  be  to  enliven  the  dreariness 
of  existence  when  dolls  should  have  gone  by,  the  little 
lady  could  not  imagine;  and  she  found  but  cold  com 
fort  in  the  determination  that  she  would  set  herself  res 
olutely  to  drawing,  and  find  in  making  pictures  such 
satisfaction  as  might  be  left  when  the  real  piquancy  of 
life  should  have  passed  away. 

But  the  years  came  and  went.  Mary  Maria  disap 
peared  wholly  from  the  eyes  of  mortals,  and  no  man 
knoweth  her  sepulchre  to  this  day.  Emilius  Alvah, 
with  a  badly  battered  face,  and  a  sadly  shattered  ankle, 
and  a  shocking  bad  hat,  lay  on  a  high  shelf  in  a  dark 
closet ;  and,  strange  to  say,  no  one  mourned  him.  His 
little  mother  grew  to  womanhood;  and,  for  the  waste 
she  looked  to  endure,  she  found  life  so  exceedingly 
bright  and  sweet  and  full  that  she  never  had  a  regret, 
but  only  a  pleasant  memory,  for  Emilius  Alvah  and 
Mary  Maria. 

Just  as  it  is  with  individuals  so  it  is  with  nations. 


160  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

J  ust  as  it  would  be  for  a  woman  to  go  back  to  her  dolls 
for  amusement,  is  it  for  a  mature  and  intellectual  nation 
to  go  back  to  the  antics  of  a  crude  and  rollicking  pe 
riod,  or  to  attempt  to  adopt  the  antics  of  a  crude  and 
rollicking  nation.  There  was  a  time  when  English 
men  entertained  themselves  and  their  wives  by  climbing 
greased  poles  and  running  sack-races.  Men  and  women 
in  Italy  may  still  entertain  themselves  by  putting  on 
grotesque  garments,  and  pelting  each  other  with  sugar 
plums.  But  surely  the  American  populace  never  pre 
sented  a  more  melancholy  spectacle  than  in  a  certain  at 
tempt  to  adopt  the  Carnival  as  an  American  institution. 
Yet  the  attempt  was  not,  necessarily,  childish  or  un 
worthy.  There  is  a  vague  idea  that  Americans  are  too 
sedate,  that  they  have  not  sufficient  relaxation,  that  they 
ought  to  appoint  more  holidays.  But  what  does  the 
idea  spring  from  ?  Amusement  is  for  health,  happi 
ness,  effectiveness.  Do  not  the  Americans  live  as  long 
as  other  people?  Are  they  not  the  happiest  people  in 
the"  world?  Are  they  really  less  effective  than  other 
people  ?  What  do  we  want  of  holidays  ?  Probably  NYC 
have  come  nearer  than  any  other  nation  to  equalizing 
work.  A  greater  proportion  of  persons  are  actively 
engaged  in  business;  a  smaller  proportion  are  suffering 
from  intense  and  prolonged  overwork,  or  from  idleness. 
Just  in  the  ratio  of  the  equalization  diminishes  our 
need  of  holida}rs.  The  American  workman  is  not  a 
child  with  a  set  task,  not  a  slave  with  an  oppressive 
burden,  but  a  free,  intelligent,  self-respecting,  «nd  self- 
guiding  man.  He  lays  out  his  own  life.  He  reaps  the 
reward  of  his  labors.  His  work  dees  not  mean  simply 


HOLIDAYS.  161 

bread-and-butter,  and  a  dance  under  the  May-pole,  but 
solid  beef  and  pudding,  a  deaconship  in  the  church,  two 
weeks'  summer  board  in  the  country,  a  piano  for  his 
daughter,  and  high-school,  and  perhaps  college,  for  his 
son.  Set  him  running  a  sack-race,  indeed  !  He  literal 
ly  is  the  populace,  at  least  of  New  England.  The  quiet 
country  village,  with  its  one  meeting-house  and  four 
school-houses,  may  have  a,  few  exceptional  tatterde 
malions,  recognized  and  tolerated,  living  from  hand  to 
mouth — a  little  Bohemia,  half  butt,  half  burden.  But 
the  mass  of  the  people  are  such  as  the  deacon  aforesaid. 
They  do  not  thank  }<ou  for  holidays.  What  they  want 
more  than  the  State  prescribes  they  can  take  for  them 
selves  without  prescriptions.  Sometimes,  when  they 
come  home  from  shop  or  market,  they  will  buy  a  mask, 
with  which  their  children  will  delight  and  affright  them 
selves  for  a  week ;  but  a  wagon-load  of  men  and  women 
going  about  the  streets  in  sober -earnest  masks,  bow 
ing  to  right  and  left,  seems  to  them  simply  silly.  A 
man  striding  along  the  sidewalk  in  a  yellow  flannel  sur 
plice  merely  makes  himself  ridiculous,  and  they  gazo 
upon  him  with  profound  soberness.  If  they  have  mon 
ey  to  spend  in  sugar-plums,  the  sugar-plums  are  safely 
wrapped  in  brown  paper  bags,  and  bestowed  in  their 
overcoat  pockets  for  the  delectation  of  their  own  little 
folks,  not  for  grown-up  strangers.  Tournament  trow- 
sers  trimmed  with  tinsel  lace  look  wonderfully  incon 
gruous  over  stout  Yankee  leather  boots ;  and  our  famil 
iarity  with  circus-riders  and  outriders  makes  the  haber 
dashery  of  knighthood  show  marvelously  mean  under 
the  broad  daylight  of  the  nineteenth  century. 


162  TWELVE  MILES  FJtOlf  A  LEMOX. 

Whatever  amendment  is  made  for  our  relief  from 
work  must  be  made  in  accordance  with  our  constitu 
tion,  national  and  social.  Americans  must  go  forward, 
and  not  backward.  They  can  never  become  children 
again.  They  are  not  to  be  raised  by  greased  poles. 
They  are  to  find  entertainment  in  society,  not  in  sports. 
Relaxation  is  to  work  itself  more  and  more  thoroughly 
and  beneficently  into  every  day,  not  concentrate  itself 
into  senseless  revels  on  set  days.  With  increase  of 
wisdom,  occupation  will  more  nicely  adjust  itself  to 
capacity  and  taste,  so  that  a  man's  business  will  be 
fruitful  of  pleasure.  Every  day  will  settle  its  own  bills, 
and  leave  no  overplus  of  weariness  to  be  offset  by  to 
morrow's  enforced  rest  or  prescribed  merry-making. 
Our  holidays  will  then  be  still  more  than  they  now  are 
holy  days — days  of  great  memories  and  great  sugges 
tions,  of  family  reunion,  of  national  congratulation,  of 
profound  and  manly  thanksgiving. 

Meanwhile  our  merry-making,  our  pleasure-taking,  is 
neither  unfrequent  nor  lugubrious.  Life  is  varied,  the 
hours  go  swiftly,  and  work  is  warm  with  interest. 

In  the  country,  where  every  sound  must  give  an 
account  of  itself,  the  early  stillness  .of  summer  morn 
ings  is  sometimes  broken  by  a  protracted  clatter.  The 
noise  assaults  your  ears  long  before  it  makes  any  im 
pression  on  your  soul,  buried  in  sleep.  You  become 
slowly  aware  that  it  is  not  a  steady,  level  ado,  but  a 
rattling  that  swells  and  sinks  and  swells  again  in  a 
series  of  disturbing  culminations;  and  presently  you 
comprehend  that  a  procession  of  some  sort  is  going  by, 
and  you  are  wide  awake  in  an  instant.  Processions  are 


HOLIDAYS.  163 

not  so  common  in  the  country  that  they  can  be  suffered 
to  hide  their  light  under  a  bushel.  The  household  is 
suddenly  set  astir  —  every  window -blind  opened  far 
.enough  for  curious  eyes  to  peer  out,  and  for  the  bright, 
fresh,  dewy  morning  to  peer  in.  The  barefoot  milk-boy 
is  slowly  sauntering  by,  his  newly  scoured  tin  pail  re 
splendent  in  the  sunshine,  and  his  wide  eyes  fixed  on 
the  clatter,  just  rounding  the  knoll  beneath  the  elms: 
one,  two,  three,  four  pairs  of  horses,  as  different  from  the 
sober  steeds  in  yonder  pasture  as  silk  from  stuff — gay, 
high -stepping  horses,  that  look  as  if  the  map  of  the 
world  had  been  wrapped  around  them  for  skin,  the  con 
tinents  tinted  roan,  the  seas  in  white;  and  behind  them 
long  two -story  wagons,  like  boxes  on  wheels,  gayly 
painted,  fast  closed.  But  we  know  it  is  the  circus,  and 
that  those  gorgeously  colored  boxes  inclose  a  howling 
chaos  of  bears  and  tigers,  and  that  somewhere  along  the 
road,  at  some  auspicious  hour,  some  happy  person  will 
see  the  elephant;  but  we  must  content  ourselves  for 
the  present  with  the  pretty  little  pony,  and  the  grand 
chariot  which  contains  such  members  of  the  "  troupe  " 
as  are  not  driving  the  horses  or  stretched  prone,  dead 
asleep,  on  the  tops  of  the  howling  boxes.  A  very  sleepy 
circus  it  always  is  at  this  time  of  the  morning;  but  it 
sets  the  whole  village  wild  with  enthusiasm. 

Then  the  handbills  come  and  add  fuel  to  the  flame. 
The  county  paper  takes  up  the  parable,  and  flares  out 
with  chariots  and  horsemen — and  horsewomen  too — in 
every  attitude  of  danger  and  daring,  and  the  odds  are 
you  go.  If  you  have  children,  you  say  it  is  to  please 
the  children.  If  you  have  none,  you  say  it  is  to  see  the 


IGl  TWELVE  MILES  FltOlf  A 

crowd.  But  it  is  not.  It  is  to  see  the  circus.  You  feel 
a  little  shamefaced  to  inarch  up  on  the  village  green 
and  buy  a  ticket  of  the  man  -who  has  made  an  office  of 
the  rear  of  his  wagon,  but  you  do  it.  Hosts  of-  minor 
tents  have  colonized  in  the  vicinity  of  the  mammoth 
tent,  and  on  their  canvas  sides  picture  to  you  in  vivid 
colors  and  flaunting  capitals  the  attractions  of  the  Two 
Interesting  Idiots  from  Australia,  Remarkable  Double- 
Ileaded  Girl  — Is  She  One,  or  Is  She  Two?  The  Cal 
culating  Pig,  or  The  Giantess  of  the  Hebrides.  But 
you  shun  side  issues  and  plunge  at  once  into  the  lions' 
den  and  take  heart.  For  no  loud  advertisement  nor 
monstrosity  of  drawing  can  conceal  the  fierce  magnifi 
cence  of  a  lion,  the  treacherous  softness  of  a  panther, 
the  graceful  beauty  of  the  leopard.  They  circle  their 
impatient  round  —  the  free,  wild,  fettered  souls — and 
bring  into  this  mean  arena  the  grandeur  of  Numidian 
wildernesses.  Before  them  the  keepers  walk  back  and 
forth  in  dingy  scarlet  coats,  reciting  to  their  ever-shift 
ing  audiences  choice  bits  of  natural  history  with  an  im 
passive  face  and  a  monotonous  voice  that  make  the 
growling  and  roaring  of  the  other  beasts  seem  orator 
ical  and  intelligent.  Here  is  the  huge  white  polar  bear, 
draggling  his  long  hair  on  the  floor,  and  panting  with 
heat,  in  spite  of  the  four  hundred  pounds  of  ice  where 
with  he  is  daily  blockaded,  and  the  hogsheads  of  water 
that  keep  him  constantly  wet.  Alas!  the  ice-chest  and 
the  shower-bath  are  but  a  sorry  tepid  substitute  for  the 
arctic  floe  that  his  hot  blood  leaps  and  longs  for.  Here 
is  the  prowling  hyena — that  ghoul  among  beasts,  that 
horror  of  ingenuous  youth,  till  the  same  tender  hand 

o  */  / 


HOLIDAYS.  165 

which  turned  Henry  VIII.  into  a  fond  husband,  and 
Judas  Iscariot  into  a  too  zealous  loyalist,  touched  the 
hyena  too,  and  whitewashed  him  into  a  roving  sanitary 
commission  prosecuting  its  good  work  by  moonlight. 
Here  in  the  middle  of  the  tent  lie  the  camels,  mild  and 
ugly ;  and  immediately  the  white  sands  of  the  desert 
stretch  around  us,  and  the  damsel  Rebekah,  lithe  and 
blithe  and  very  fair  to  look  upon,  stands  once  more 
by  the  well  of  Nahor  at  the  even-tide,  and  down  from 
Gilead  comes  a  cavalcade  of  Midian  merchants,  bear 
ing  spicery  and  balm  and  myrrh.  "Slow  coaching," 
young  America  would  say ;  but  when  Ahasuerus  sent 
out  all  swiftly  a  decree  to  revoke  the  bloody  edict  of 
Haman,  "hastened  and  pressed"  by  the  love  and  the 
terror  of  his  young  Jewish  queen — Esther  the  beautiful, 
and  brave  as  beautiful,  and  wise  as  brave — the  camels 
and  young  dromedaries  held  their  heads  high  among 
his  post-horses.  Was  it  three  thousand  of  such  sturdy 
cattle  as  these  that  Job's  stables  held?  Round  such 
tawnjr,  homely  necks  did  Zebah  and  Zalmunna  hang 
their  golden  ornaments?  And  if,  as  my  lord  keeper 
affirms,  it  takes  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  meat 
every  day  to  feed  a  baker's  dozen  of  lions  and  tigers,  on 
what  enemy's  country  could  Job  have  foraged  to  keep 
his  stalls  from  famine,  even  if  his  mews  were  as  pious 
ly  inclined  as  our  nineteenth  century  beasts,  who  have 
unanimously  agreed  to  keep  the  Sabbath-day  by  an 
unbroken  fast?  No  feeding  in  this  circus  on  Sunday! 
Let  the  compilers  of  our  Sabbath  manuals  take  notice. 
Whether  it  is  for  the  health  of  their  bodies  or  the  sub 
jugation  of  their  souls  doth  not  appear;  but  it  would 


166  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

seem  as  if  Sunday  must  be  a  rather  long  day  to  tbern, 
with  not  even  the  solace  of  a  curious  stick  to  stir  up 
their  sides  and  their  solitude. 

And  here  is  that  mountain  of  animated  nature,  the 
elephant  Is  he  an  elephant?  Is  he  not  a  mass  of 
baked  mud.  that  lived  once  among  the  megatheriums 
and  ich thy osau ruses,  when  life  was  big  and  slow  and 
pokey,  and  has  come  down  to  us  by  mistake,  as  one 
born  out  of  due  time?  Certainly  he  seems  here  very 
much  out  of  time  and  place.  He  is  so  utterly  unbeauti- 
ful!  and  he  appears  to  know  it,  poor  fellow,  and  looks 
meek  and  deprecating  out  of  those  small,  sidewise,  mod 
est  eyes  of  his.  What  straight,  ungraceful  legs!  what 
a  short,  useless  neck !  what  an  unwieldy  head !  And 
why  will  they  make  him  dance,  when  dignity  is  his 
only  role?  And  what  does  an  elephant  think  of  being 
made  to  climb  up  and  stand  on  a  tub  just  large  enough 
to  give  room  to  his  four  feet — if  an  elephant  can  be  said 
to  have  feet — where  the  appearance  is  that  his  legs  have 
simply  come  to  an  end  ? 

Before  you  have  had  time  enough  to  sec  the  baby 
elephant,  who  is  but  half  as  homely  as  the  other,  be 
cause  only  half  as  big;  or  the  baby  lion,  who  is  as  fierce 
at  heart  as  his  jungle-born  papa;  or  the  ostrich,  who 
"can  carry  a  full-sized  man  on  his  back,  and  run  nine 
miles  an  hour,"  says  the  exhibitor  in  his  measured 
monotone;  or  the  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine; 
or  the  always  funny  monkey;  you  must  go  in  to  see 
the  "  performance,"  which  does  not,  perhaps,  rank  among 
the  high  arts,  but  which  is  often  a  good  deal  higher  than 
is  quite  comfortable  to  look  at.  It  is  harder  to  defy  law 


HOLIDAYS.  167 

than  to  organize  law.  Nature  established  gravitation ; 
but  she  must  establish  something.  If  a  stone  does  not 
go  down  when  it  is  dropped,  it  must  go  somewhere. 
But  having  made  a  point  of  putting  people  down,  Na 
ture  must  feel  astonished  to  see  those  circus-riders  stay 
up.  The  broad-saddle  riding  is  not  so  incomprehensi 
ble.  Any  body  could  ride  standing  on  a  soft  saddle  as 
big  and  flat  as  a  table,  and  perhaps  make  shift  to  jump 
through  a  hoop  in  the  air,  since  the  horse,  though  gal 
loping,  gallops  slowly  withal.  But  when  it  comes  to 
riding  without  any  saddle  at  all,  and  riding  two  horses 
at  a  time,  and  standing  straight  up  on  them  both,  and 
a  woman  standing  straight  up  on  you,  and  all  sweeping 
around  together  in  a  dizzy  whirligig — why,  you  can 
not  do  it. 

And  here  they  live  and  grow  together  for  years  and 
3'ears — little  lions  and  leopards,  and  little  men  and 
women — in  a  world  of  their  own  ;  and  you  know,  per- 
hnps,  as  much  about  the  one  as  about  the  other. 

As  for  the  ocean,  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  on 
both  sides,  in  the  way  of  merry-making. 

It  is  sultry  and  oppressive  at  home,  and  in  your  ears 
is  a  low  roar  which  common  folks  call  the  sound  of  the 
sea,  but  which  you,  better  instructed  in  sea-lore  by  a 
sea-faring  ancestry,  know  to  be  the  moaning  of  the 
wicked  one  doomed  to  construct  a  rope  of  sand.  Sand 
enough  he  can  easily  gather,  and  fashion  for  his  rope, 
but  when  he  fain  would  twist  it,  the  treacherous  sand 
falls  perpetually  apart,  and  his  labors  have  no  end. 
Who  wonders  the  unhappy  wretch  mourns  over  his 
hopeless  task?  From  our  fair  hill-top  the  long,  level 


lOo  T\VEL  VE  MILES  FROM  A 

line  of  the  sea  stretches  blue  and  far,  white-specked 
with  sails,  white-bordered  with  the  shining  beach.  The 
long  liue  of  blue,  the  low  roar,  the  brisk  breeze  blow 
ing  already  through  imagination — all  lure  us  seaward, 
and  with  us 

"As  the  rules  require 
Two  towels  and  a  spoon,"    % 

and  a  hamper  or  two  of  hard  bread,  and  a  few  dozen 
eggs,  and  sweet-corn,  and  sugar-gingerbread,  and  other 
such  provender,  which  is  supposed  to  be  salt- water 
proof,  for  we  will  camp  out.  Let  Newport  have  its 
thousands,  and  Long  Branch  its  tens  of  thousands, 
mine  be  a  cot  beside  the  sea,  and  a  Ityronic  mingling 
with  the  universe,  and  a  tasting  of  the  sweets  of  soli 
tude, 

Oh!  solitude,  we  no  longer  ask  where  are  the  charms 
that  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face.  We  only  ask  piteous- 
ly  where  is  thy  face?  This  beach,  once  so  lovely-lonely, 
swarms  with  people.  Far  off  the  white  sea-sand  is  alive 
with  little  black  bugs  creeping  to  and  fro,  amphibious, 
for  they  float  in  the  fringe  of  the  sea  ne*ir  at  hand.  Our 
romantic  cot  is  overflowed  with  ephemeral  picnickers, 
and  every  black  crag  is  crested  with  humanity.  You 
must  boil  your  corn  with  a  dozen  pairs  of  eyes  fastened 
upon  you,  and  there  is  no  such  thing  as  drowning  your 
self,  though  you  should  wish  it  as  much  as  Johnny  Sands 
wished  to  save  his  wife,  for  a  dozen  round  balls  bobbing 
up  and  down  on  the  waves  about  you,  arc  the  heads  of 
strong  swimmers  who  would  be  sure  to  dive  and  wrench 
you  out  by  the  hair  of  your  head,  if  it  would  stay  on. 
And  what  a  disheveled,  dripping,  forlorn  set  are  the 


HOLIDAYS.  •       169 

•bathers  coming  up  out  of  the  sea.  Oh !  my  lovely  la 
dies,  you  will  be  stylish  or  nothing,  and  you  talk  dain 
tily  of  scallops  and  trimmings,  and  you  fashion  bath 
ing-suits  as  featly  as  ball-dresses;  but  the  saucy  sea 
mocks  all  our  finery,  and  tosses  up  against  our  scarlet 
splendor  as  undevoutly  as  over  the  old  tow-gown  and 
horse-blanket  frock  of  our  uncaring  neighbor.  But  in 
we  go,  with  a  leap  and  a  bound  to  begin  with,  and  come 
near  tumbling  head  first  into  Madrid,  from  not  count 
ing  on  the  resistance  of  the  water.  Ugh !  how  cold 
it  is!  and  how  indefatigable!  and  irresistible!  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  all  the  conceit  is  thwacked  out  of 
you.  The  sea  will  stand  no  nonsense.  It  beats  you 
about,  it  knocks  you  down.  It  takes  your  breath  away. 
It  streams  into  your  ears.  It  pours  into  your  mouth. 
It  rushes  up  your  nose.  You  are  drowned  and  dead. 
Who  would  have  thought  it  was  so  savage  and  so  salt? 
You  try  to  swim,  and  down  you  go  plump  to  the  coral 
grove  and  the  mermaidens,  and  up  you  scramble  again 
— and  strong  arms  pull  you  one  way,  and  the  strong 
sea  thrashes  you  another  way,  and  every  body  is  scream 
ing  all  the  while  at  the  top  of  his  voice  for  pure  excite 
ment.  You  leap,  and  it  buoys  you  up — you  walk,  and 
it  flings  you  down.  You  yield  to  it,  and  it  hurls  you 
shoreward  with  a  wild  spray -tossing.  You  rush  against 
it,  and  it  smites  you  merrily  and  cheerily,  but  with  the 
force  of  a  sledge-hammer. 

So  you  come  out  all  dripping,  and  drowned,  and  for 
lorn.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Every  nerve  tingles  with  ex 
hilaration.  Every  drop  of  blood  is  warm  and  alert.  If 
anv  bodv  wants  a  serpent  strangled,  or  a  world  carried, 

8 


170        *          TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON, 

here  is  an  arm  of  Hercules,  and  here  is  a  shoulder  of  * 
Atlas.  But  oh!  the  salt  in  your  hair!  And  oh!  the 
amount  of  water  that  flannel  will  absorb!  And  that  is 
why  you  do  not  rnind  how  many  rows  of  trimming 
your  bathing-dress  has,  or  whether  it  is  made  of  linsey- 
woolsey  or  moire  antique.  Yon  ocean  is  a  great  wild 
beast,  that  rends  you  and  tosses  you  without  a  particle 
of  respect  for  your  coat  of  many  colors,  and  in  its  re 
morseless  clutch  you  think  no  more  of  your  wardrobe 
than  did  Livingstone  in  the  lion's  mouth.  And  when 
y.ou  come  out,  never  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  array, 
ed  like  one  of  you,  no  matter  how  you  went  in.  You 
can  not  get  out  at  all  till  you  are  wrung  out,  and  you 
never  can  be  wrung  out  so  dry  that  rivulets  of  water 
do  not  trickle  down  at  every  step;  and  all  your  hair 
droops  round  your  glowing  face  like  sea-weed  round  a 
— boiled  lobster — if  one  may  quote  poetry  with  varia 
tions — for  the  truth's  sake — and  all  grace  is  sopped  out 
of  your  folds,  and  all  beauty  soaked  out  of  your  but 
tons,  arid  you  walk  homeward  flapping  as  you  go,  and 
firm  in  the  faith  that  you  might  as  well  take  the  surf  in 
a  coffee-bag  as  in  purple  and  fine  linen. 

Who  dare  say  that  women  are  the  slaves  of  fashion 
and  show?  Go  to,  now !  To  Hampton  Beach,  for  in 
stance,  and  see  what  "  objects"  they  are  willing  to  make 
of  themselves  before  angels  and  men  for  the  sake  of  a 
little  wild  fun,  a  little  pure,  wholesome,  self-forgetful  ex 
citement 

And  when  you  arc  once  more  clothed  and  in  your 
right  mind,  and  staring  like  stern  Cortes,  silent  upon  a. 
peak  in  Darien,  at  the  great  ocean  lying  still  and  ma- 


HOLIDAYS.  •        171 

jestic  below  you,  can  you  believe  it  is  the  same  ocean 
that  played  such  mad  pranks  yonder?  Beautiful  and 
bitter  sea,  august  and  solemn  sea,  I  know  you!  Eoll 
on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean,  roll ;  I  have  rolled 
with  you,  and,  for  all  your  stately  steppings,  you  can  be 
as  frisky  as  a  colt.  Unfold  your  purple  grandeur  to 
the  dazed  beholder,  be  the  highway  of  commerce,  the 
divider  of  nations,  the  great  untamed  power  of  the 
world.  A  little  cord  no  bigger  than  my  finger  has  an 
nihilated  you,  and  as  a  beverage  you  are  more  than 
disagreeable ! 

One  day  rises  head  and  shoulders  above  its  brethren, 
the  holiday  of  the  year,  one  to  be  remembered  and  per 
petuated. 

We  are  loyal  citizens  in  Applethorpe,  and  we  always 
"celebrate,"  either  at  home  or  abroad.  Indeed,  our 
patriotism  is  of  that  irrepressible  kind  which  the  four- 
and-twenty  hours  of  Independence  Day  can  not  hold, 
but  it  bubbles  up  and  boils  over  into  the  preceding 
evening.  There  is  a  warning  spurt  and  sputter  of 
Chinese  crackers  about  the  stoop  of  the  "cheap  cash 
store,"  and  through  the  dewy  darkness  come  mingled 
voices  in  shout  and  laughter,  and  mingled  odors  of  pow 
der  and  brimstone.  But  we  are  not  in  the  full  tide  of 
our  successful  career  till  midnight.  When  the  clock 
strikes  twelve,  the  Abbot  of  Misrule  enters  in  and  takes 
possession  ;  "  the  boys"  begin  their  work.  The  stately 
church-bell  starts  up  astonished,  and  clangs  out  strange 
greeting  to  the  hills;  and  the  hills,  astonished,  make 
answer  with  the  one  rusty- throated  cannon  that  has 
been  dragged  up  the  highest  hill  of  all.  The  villagers 


172          •          T\\'£LV£  3IILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

stir  uneasily  in  their  beds,  with  dim,  momentary  dreams 
of  fire  and  danger,  fading  gradually  into  a  confused  con 
sciousness  of  "  the  Fourth."  Ding,  ding,  ding,  goes  the 
bell,  heavily  and  sullenly  booms  the  cannon  at  irregu 
lar  intervals,  and  every  body  is  perforce  wide-awake. 
The  din  is  dolorous  to  those  who  live  under  the  drop 
pings  of  the  sanctuary — ear-splitting,  brain-wearying, 
rest-destroying;  but  to  me,  far  off,  it  comes  no  din,  but 
a  soft,  clear,  musical  melody,  cleaving  the  silence,  the 
darkness,  the  heavy  fragrance  with  a  sweetness  all  its 
own.  King  away,  my  brave  boys !  The  minister,  the 
lawyer,  the  doctor,  the  captain,  the  grocer,  are  mutter 
ing  harsh  tilings  of  you,  but  I  only  thank  you  for  the 
tuneful  voice.  It  is  so  pleasant  to  be  awake,  alive,  in 
the  boundlessness  of  night.  The  solitude  is  utterly  sat 
isfying.  There  is  neither  near  nor  far,  but  the  whole 
universe  stretches  around  you,  the  one  being  in  infinite 
space;  and  the  repose  is  divine.  Ding,  ding,  ding! — a 
fresh  hand  is  on  the  bell-rope,  and  the  melody  that  was 
faint  and  feeble  rolls  out  again  full  and  pealing.  The 
vibrant  voice  rings  royally  through  the  night;  the 
cloud  of  sleep  that  was  settling  over  the  tired  popula 
tion  is  instantly  dispelled;  and  again  the  butcher,  the 
baker,  the  candlestick-maker,  have  nothing  pretty  to  say ; 
but  I  know  the  little  flower-hearts  are  beating  breath- 
lessty,  and  all  the  dew-drops  tremble  with  delight.  The 
prairie-rose  leans  over  in  its  glory,  and  whispers  to  the 
honeysuckle,  and  the  honeysuckle  croons  back  softly  to 
the  rose,  pouring  forth  fragrance  as  lavishly  as  if  hum 
ming-birds  and  honey-bees  had  not  fed  on  its  sweetness 
all  day  long.  And,  spite  of  the  joy,  I  can  not  keep 


HOLIDAYS.  173 

awake.  Vain  the  sweet-toned  bell  and  the  delaying 
perfume.  Through  the  ivory  gate  my  soul  wanders, 
wavers,  and  is  lost. 

Snap,  snap,  snap!  the  light-infantry  approaches,  arm 
ed  and  equipped  with  fire-crackers,  as  the  law  of  boy- 
dom  directs.  They  are  making  a  raid  through  the  vil 
lage,  charging  upon  the  inoffensive  inhabitants,  and 
driving  away  every  chance  of  sleep  with  their  talking 
and  laughing,  and  the  uproar  of  the  pert  little  crackers. 
Then  there  is  a  lull,  a  murmur  of  low  talk,  and  sud 
denly  an  explosion  extraordinary — a  sudden  burst  of 
packs  of  crackers,  torpedoes,  squibs,  and  all  things  that 
whiz  and  fizz  and  hiss  and  bang — then  a  boyish  shout 
and  yell,  and  the  talk  and  laughter  dying  into  silence. 
So  between  sleeping  and  waking  the  short  night  speeds 
on,  and  before  the  boys  are  tired  the  birds  take  up  the 
celebration,  and  trill  out  from  a  thousand  throats  the 
heroism  of  our  forefathers.  The  bell  gives  way  to  these 
new  re-enforcements;  the  hot-lipped  rheumatic  gun  is 
glad  to  rest  its  old  bones;  the  sun  comes  up  inquiring 
ly  from  behind  the  hills,  wondering  what  all  the  fuss  is 
about;  and  the  Fourth  of  July  is  fairly  set  agoing. 

The  day  is  clear  and  hot,  such  a  day  as  belongs  to 
the  Fourth.  We  are  early  astir,  for  our  little  Celtic 
handmaid  has  great  expectations  to-day.  She  is  a  late 
comer  from  Green  Erin — a  healthy,  ruddy  girl,  with  a 
voice  like  the  north  wind,  and  an  arm  like  the  oak  that 
defies  it.  Her  honest  face  is  continually  breaking  into 
sunshine  beneath  the  great  cloud  of  glossy  dark  hair 
above.  I  am  not  yet  tired  of  watching  her  as  she  goes 
about  the  house  with  strong  and  sturdy  tread,  so  igno- 


174  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LE3IOX. 

rant  of  fatigue,  so  unacquainted  with  weakness.  The 
greenness  and  vigor  of  her  native  island  linger  still 
around  her.  All  alone,  scarcely  sixteen,  she  came  to 
this  strange,  vast  land,  and  dropped  at  once  into  her  ap 
pointed  place  as  featly  as  a  marble  into  its  socket  on  a 
solitaire  board.  There  is  something  I  do  not  under 
stand  about  these  Irish.  Hardly  able  to  read,  seldom 
to  write,  not  over-intelligent,  they  manage  somehow  to 
shoot  straight  to  the  mark.  When  we  travel,  we  bring 
heaven  and  earth  into  requisition.  Every  thing  is  pre 
arranged.  Letters  fly  back  and  forth,  selecting  routes 
and  hotels.  The  telegraph  is  brought  into  play,  and 
relays  are  set  all  along  the  road  to  keep  us  in  the  way 
we  should  go ;  and,  after  all,  we  miss  the  early  train,  we 
stop  at  the  wrong  place,  and  reach  our  journey's  end 
with  the  best  trunk  missing. 

But  my  Irish  friend  Honora  takes  it  into  her  head  to 
send  for  "little  Margery,"  and  forthwith  comes  to  me. 
I  dispatch  the  letter,  forming  the  address  according  to 
Honora's  rapid  tongue,  revised  and  corrected  by  Col- 
ton's  Maps.  That  it  will  ever  strike  home,  directed  in 
that  wild  way,  seems  to  me  very  doubtful ;  but  Honora 
harbors  no  doubt.  "  I  shall  get  my  answer  back  the 
first  of  March,"  says  Honora,  in  the  full  assurance  of 
faith,  though  to  my  certain  knowledge  she  is  innocent 
of  mathematics,  geography,  and  the  use  of  the  globes. 
Yet,  sure  as  the  sun  in  the  heavens,  the  first  of  March 
brings  her  letter.  Will  you  read  it?  I  know  she  will 
not  mind,  and  to  me  it  is  a  pleasant  insight  into  another 
world. 


HOLIDAYS.  175 

"  DEAR  HONORA, — I  feel  most  happy  to  have  an  oc 
casion  of  answering  your  welcomed  letter,  which  I  have 
just  received  after  your  long  silence,  for  I  was  under 
the  impression  that  I  would  never  hear  from  you ;  but 
it's  an  old  proverb,  'Better  late  than  never.' 

"  Honora,  I  am  a  poor  old  man,  after  rearing  a  long 
family,  and  now  I  have  neither  son  nor  daughter  to  pro 
vide  for  me  in  my  old  age,  but  I  have  new  life  in  me 
since  I  have  heard  from  you, 

"Little  Margery  is  quite  a  young  woman,  and  is  very 
proud  that  you  are  going  to  fetch  her  out  to  the  United 
States;  you  will  make  it  your  business  to  pay  her  pas 
sage  at  your  earliest  convenience  from  Cork  in  a  steam 
boat.  I  am  rather  shy  to  request  of  you  to  send  a 
pound  or  two  to  her  for  to  buy  a  little  clothes,  Dennis 
went  from  here  on  the  1st  of  January,  and,  of  course, 
he  left  my  hand  empty,  which  going  has  caused  me 
great  uneasiness  and  discontent.  Your  poor  mother  is 
very  lonely  after  Dennis,  and  after  ye  all.  I  trust  you 
will  not  be  so  slow  in  the  future  in  writing,  for  it  gives 
me  great  pleasure  when  I  receive  your  letters.  We 
are  all  very  proud  to  know  that  Elfreda  is  married  and 
well;  for  Elfreda  was  a  good  daughter  to  me,  and  I 
trust  she  will  remember  me  yet.  Dennis  will  go  to 
Boston,  and  you  will  make  it  your  business  to  inquire 
for  him ;  and  if  you  meet  him  tell  him  to  write  imme 
diately,  and  you  also  will  answer  this  as  quick  as  pos 
sible.  All  the  friends  around  here  are  well.  Your 
mother  and  I  join  in  sending  you  and  Elfreda  and 
husband  our  thousand  blessings,  and  God  may  pros 
per  ye  all.  Patrick  has  a  large  family  and  is  well.  Be 


176  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

pleased  to  send  Michael  a  newspaper.     Write  imme 
diately. 

"Your  poor  mother  is  overjoyed  to  hear  from  ye  all. 
Good-bye.  I  remain  your  affectionate  father, 

"  MICHAEL  O'MORRITY." 

Ilonora  flings  out  another  letter,  with  the  money  so 
shyly  asked,  and  the  winds  take  it,  and  bear  it  to  the 
little  cottage  across  the  sea,  and  out  from  the  little  cot 
tage  trips  little  Margery  smiling  over  the  ocean,  fearing 
nothing.  Safely  the  trusty  ship  sets  her  down  in  Bos 
ton — Boston,  where  you  and  I  should  lose  way  and 
heart  twenty  times  in  the  tangle  of  streets  and  alleys; 
but  Margery  somehow  thrids  them  all,  and  walks  into 
our  apple-orchards  promptly  with  the  May  blossoms, 
as  fresh  and  blooming  as  they.  As  I  look  into  her  ig 
norant  young  face,  I  can  only  say,  He  giveth  his  angels 
charge  concerning  thee,  to  keep  thce  in  all  thy  waj-s. 
But  I  can  not  help  regretting  that  the  good  angels, 
while  they  were  about  it,  could  not  also  find  it  within 
their  province  to  take  charge  of  the  "little  clothes"  so 
painfully  gained,  but  left  them  to  be  stolen  by  some 
miscreant  at  Newfoundland,  the  "little  clothes," and  the 
pair  of  stout  Irish  blankets  which  the  fond  old  father 
sent  to  his  good  daughter  Elfreda,  and  which  she  mourn 
fully  and  truly  affirms  would  have  lasted  her  all  her  life. 
Cold  comfort  be  found  within  their  folds  by  the  wretch 
who  stole  them,  and,  like  young  Harry  Gill's,  evermore 
may  his  teeth  chatter, 

"Chatter,  chatter,  chatter  still!" 

But  there  is  no  thought  of  blankets  now.     Speedily 


HOLIDAYS.  177 

finishes  Margery  her  morning  work,  arrays  herself,  well 
pleased,  in  her  new-country  outfit,  fashions  a  truly  Cel 
tic  water-fall  from  her  bright  black  hair,  and  joins  the 
group  of  stalwart  cousins  and  cousinesses  who  are  going 
to  Boston  to  "celebrate."  It  tires  me  to  think  of  what 
she  will  do  and  be  and  suffer  with  unfeigned  delight  to 
day — the  tight  new  dress,  the  long,  hurried  walk  to  the 
railroad  station,  the  crowded  ride,  the  din  and  dust  and 
furnace-heat  of  the  city  —  but  her  face  is  alight  with 
happy  anticipations,  and  I  at  least  enjoy  her  joy.  God 
speed  your  merry-making,  Margaret ! 

Now  we  close  the  south  blinds  and  windows,  shutting 
out  the  burning,  remorseless  sun,  shutting  in  the  cool, 
scented  morning  air,  and  loiter  on  the  shady  stoop,  find 
ing-it  of  all  things  sweetest  to  do  nothing.  I  hear  the 
clatter  of  a  mowing-machine  in  the  meadow  below,  and 
from  the  slope  above  comes  the  rhythm  of  the  swinging 
scythe,  for  so  our  hay-makers  keep  holiday.  The  birds 
are  mostly  quiet,  but  occasionally  from  the  orchard 
comes  a  quick  "Twhit!"  and  from  the  swamp  a  sono 
rous  "  Caw  !  caw  !"  The  busy,  saucy,  overgrown  robins 
are  hopping  over  the  new-mown  hay,  the  swallows 
swoop  down  almost  into  our  very  faces,  and  the  whirr 
of  the  hurnming-bird  brings  me  on  tiptoe  to  catch  one 
glance  at  the  mist  of  his  gossamer  wings  and  his  flash 
ing  splendor  among  the  vines.  Now  and  then  the 
mowers  come  into  view,  curving  the  shell-work  of  their 
broad  swaths  with  an  easy,  graceful  sweep  that  makes 
mowing  seem  no  toil,  but  a  fine  art — a  pleasurable  mu 
sical  motion. 

"Going   to   be   a  good  hay -day,  Aleck?"  says  my 


178  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

neighbor,  the  President,  sauntering  over,  and  leaning 
his  folded  arms  on  the  fence. 

"  Well  there  'tis,"  says  'Aleck,  introducing  a  rest  into 
the  music.  "The  weather's  well  enough.  It's  the 
wind.  If  the  wind  gets  round  to  the  south,  we  shall 
have  rain.  If  it  don't,  we  sha'n't," 

"A  handsome  piece  of  grasp,  if  you  get  it  in  without 
rain." 

"Can't  tell  much  about  the  weather.  George"  (to 
the  boy,  whose  scythe  rattles  rather  suspiciously),  "  I 
wouldn't  cut  those  stones  in  two,  if  I'se  you." 

" Quadrupedante  putrem  sonitu  quati't  ungula  campum" 
Trots  smartly  by  a  procession — three  or  four  gay  horses, 
each  horse  with  a  shining  covered  buggjr,  each  buggy 
with  a  shining,  trim  young  man  all  alone.  But  they 
will  not  long  be  alone.  I  know  the  look  of  them.  It 
is  Frederic,  it  is  John,  it  is  Albert — spruce  young  farm 
ers  dressed  in  their  Sunday  best.  They  have  been  skim 
ming  the  cream  of  the  teams  all  the  village  round,  and 
now  they  are  going  for  their  "girls;"  and  a  jolly  day 
they  will  have  of  it,  and  a  safe  home-coming  let  us  pray, 
Cor  they  will  never  think  to  do  it  for  themselves:  be 
sides,  there  is  a  tradition  hereabouts  that  if  a  young  man 
and  maiden  are  upset  in  their  drives  their  marriage  is 
certain ;  and  I  half  suspect  the  rogues  plot  to  knock  off 
a  wheel  or  sidle  down  a  bank  with  the  design  of  mak 
ing  their  election  sure.  Now  the  railroad  train  roars 
over  the  causeway,  through  the  peat-field,  now  it  hushes 
into  silence  behind  the  hill,  now  it  whistles  out  upon 
the  plain,  and  makes  its  noisy  halt  at  the  village  station. 
It  will  do  a  large  business  for  us  to-day.  Young  people 


HOLIDAYS.  179 

will  rush  from  the  old  farms  to  tbe  cities,  and  youngish 
people  will  flock  from  the  cities  to  the  old  home  farms. 
Far  off  their  coming  shines.  They  are  trooping  up  the 
hill.  They  glimmer  among  the  trees.  Their  chatter 
floats  before.  I  know  them  all,  what  comfort  they  car 
ry,  and  what  welcome  awaits  them  in  homes  where  such 
holidays  are  indeed  all  too  few!  "Will  the  tide  toss  up 
a  little  spray  to  us?  Ah !  here  they  come,  by  twos  and 
threes;  we  shall  not  lose  our  share  of  greeting  and  good 
cheer.  "  Here's  three  of  us  in  a  row  with  on  pants," 
calls  the  Governor,  strutting  up  statelily  to  show  his 
first  "suit  of  pants,"  as  he  calls  them;  and  midget  But 
ternuts,,  more  shy,  but  equally  elate,  brings  up  the  rear, 
and  whispers  softly,  "I've  got  on  panth,"  and  sticks  to 
the  word  as  closely  as  if  it  were  standard  English.  The 
'new  costumes  have  to  be  scanned,  discussed,  and  ad 
mired;  a  tear  is  attempted  to  be  dropped  over  the  tad 
poles  thus  hopelessly  transformed  into  frogs,  news  and 
nonsense  are  trifled  over,  and  there  is  an  eye  to  be  kept 
on  the  wee  boys,  who  have  not  put  on  the  practice  with 
the  trowsers  of  discretion,  and  are  continually  disappear 
ing  round  corners,  and  potentially  falling  into  wells  and 
running  against  scythes.  Indeed,  they  will  bear  watch 
ing,  for  the  Governor  has  a  way,  strangely  disagreeable 
to  mothers,  of  climbing  house-tops  and  sitting  astride 
ridge-poles;  and  Butternuts  belongs  to  a  family  whose 
ten-year-old  boys  have  been  known  to  cling  to  a  rope, 
while  their  eight  and  ten  year  old  brother  and  sister 
stood  at  the  attic  window,  and  drew  them  up  from  the 
ground  into  the  garret.  I  shudder  now  to  think  of  it, 
and  say  again,  "  Their  angels,  their  angels  do  alwaj's  be 
hold  the  Hicc  of  our  Father  which  is  in  heaven." 


180  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

But  the  tiny  stragglers  are  gathered  in,  the  groups 
reform,  the  tide  recedes,  but  leaves  us  not  impoverish 
ed.  Fragrant  fat-sided  strawberries,  great  bold  Ama 
zons  of  cherries,  smothered  in  green  leaves,  are  its  pal 
pable  high-water  marks;  and  while  we  are  gathering 
up  these  spoils  of  time  and  tide,  my  neighbor,  the  Sec 
retary,  bids  me  a  pea-picking  into  his  garden.  Not  to 
day,  though  peas  are  sweet  and  juicy  and  tender,  and 
it  is  pleasant  picking  among  his  grape-vines  and  his 
rose-bushes,  his  hemlocks  and  larches;  but  there  will 
be  no  dinner  cooked  and  no  fire  kindled  in  this  house 
to-day.  Ambrosia  and  nectar,  manna  and  quails,  bread 
and  milk,  butter  and  honey — this  is  our  Olympian  fare 
for  the  Fourth.  So  the  peas  may  sit  unmolested  in 
their  pods,  and  meditate  after  the  fashion  of  Hans  An 
dersen's,  who,  observing  that  themselves  were  green  and' 
the  shell  was  green,  thought,  therefore,  the  whole  world 
was  green ;  in  which  opinion  good  Hans  admits  they 
were  about  right. 

But  the  train  that  brought  our  friends  brought  also 
our  mail ;  and  we  will  run  over  to  the  post-office  and 
put  ourselves  in  communication  with  the  universe,  drop 
ping  in  on  the  way  at  my  neighbor's  barn  to  see  the 
new  colt — a  shivering  little  day-old  creature,  the  tiniest 
morsel  of  a  horse  possible,  but  a  two-thousand-dollar 
beast,  and  therefore  claiming  respect,  though  I  must 
confess  my  unsophisticate  eyes  fail  to  detect  the  points 
which  make  him  worth  well-nigh  his  weight  in  gold. 
Four  long  crooked  sticks  of  legs,  and  a  bit  of  mouse- 
colored  body — that  is  all  I  see  for  your  two  thousand 
dollars. 


HOLIDAYS.  181 

The  Post-office  is  far  better  worth  while.  The  Post- 
office  is  a  blessed  institution  in  the  country.  It  is  so 
ciety  where  none  intrudes.  Letters  are  the  cream  of 
social  intercourse.  In  them  you  taste  the  wit  and  wis 
dom,  the  thought  and  feeling,  of  living  persons,  with 
out  the  embarrassments  of  personal  presence.  It  is  con 
versation  at  arms-length — these  letters  whose  dear,  fa 
miliar  handwriting  is  like  light  to  my  eyes — letters  that 
bless  rne  with  their  magnetic  touch,  even  while  I  hold 
them  in  my  hand  unopened.  The  daily  paper  brings 
the  world's  history  down  to  date,  and  sometimes  antici 
pates  it.  By  an  electric  mystery  you  hear  what  has 
happened  long  before  it  happens,  and  even  when  it 
never  happened  at  all.  The  continents  report  prog 
ress  to  me  every  morning,  though  I  never  stir  from 
beneath  my  own  vine  and  fig-tree.  I  know  precisely 
what  the  Queen  wore  yesterday.  Livingstone  is  cir 
cumstantially  and  definitively  killed  on  the  first  page 
of  the  morning  journal,  and  brought  to  life  and  letters 
again  on  the  third.  The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  shed 
was  but  the  slow-coaching  of  the  forefathers.  Our  tear 
is  stopped  half-way  out,  and  perhaps  will  never  be  shed 
at 'all. 

And  then  old  Puss  purrs  and  wins  me  out  to  see  her 
sleeping  beauty,  her  week-old  kitten ;  and  while  I  am 
out  I  may  as  well  look  into  the  garden,  to  see  what  the 
sun  is  doing  for  my  one  China-aster  and  my  five  sweet- 
peas;  for,  alas!  my  seeds  refused  to  come  up,  and  my 
weeds  refused  to  stay  down,  and  so  my  garden  is  a 
howling  wilderness — when  I  am  in  it.  And  then  come 
the  nectar  and  ambrosia,  and — must  it  be  confessed? — 


182  TWELVE  MILES  FJtOJf  A  LEMOX. 

a  hot  dinner  after  all,  sent  in  by  these  friendly  country 
neighbors — but  nectar  and  ambrosia  too.  And  then 
drowsiness  and  dreams,  stillness  of  noon  and  afternoon 
— then  a  little  of  Thackeray  and  a  little  of  Herder,  and 
then  a  low,  muttering  peal  like  thunder,  and  we  start 
up  to  find  the  heavens  overcast.  The  bright  day  is 
utterly  gone.  The  west  is  lurid  and  angry.  The  sky 
hangs  low  and  sullen.  A  livid,  leaden  look  is  on  the 
frightened  earth.  The  silence  is  portentous.  We  hasten 
to  make  fast  every  door  and  blind  and  sash,  and  the 
tempest  bursts  upon  us — rage  of  wind  and  roar  of  rain, 
the  lightning's  incessant  flash  and  the  thunder's  awful 
reverberations.  The  unmown  grass  lies  prostrate  be 
fore  the  fury  of  the  storm.  The  rounded  hay -cocks  are 
torn  apart,  and  tossed  over  the  field  in  wild  confusion. 
The  tall  trees  bend  and  writhe  and  moan.  The  house 
trembles.  The  water-spouts  shriek.  There  is  a  snap 
ping,  a  crackling,  a  crashing;  one  tree  and  another  and 
another  are  torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  dragged  remorse 
lessly  through  the  orchard,  or  dropped  heavily  and 
helplessly  out  of  the  track  of  the  tornado.  And  sud 
denly  as  it  came  the  frenzy  of  the  storm  is  gone.  The 
cloud  still  hangs  over  us,  but  the  wind  has  died  away. 
The  rain  fulls  softly.  The  lightnings  do  not  rive  the 
whole  sky,  but  only  open  a  portal  of  heaven  in  the 
horizon,  and  I  think  more  complacently  of  the  dilapi 
dated  state  of  our  lightning-rods.  The  great  storm  last 
winter  twisted  off  one  at  the  roof,  and  after  several  se 
vere  thunder-showers  this  summer,  the  other  was  'dis 
covered  to  have  broken  near  the  ground.  The  black 
smith  mended  this,  but  that  was  not  to  be  so  lightly 
healed.  The  holder  of  the  pntent  could  not  be  found, 


HOLIDAYS.  183 

but  the  owner  of  a  rival  patent  said  he  would  put  up  a 
better  set — these  were  nothing  and  worse  than  nothing, 
for  they  had  never  been  safe.  This  was  an  alarming 
state  of  things,  but  a  mathematical  demonstration  speed 
ily  restored  my  peace  of  mind.  For,  first,  the  rods  had 
never  been  safe.  Secondly,  during  the  six  years  they 
had  been  up,  the  house  had  never  been  struck.  Third 
ly,  one  of  the  rods  was  gone,  consequently  they  were 
only  half  as  unsafe  as  they  were  before ;  therefore  the 
probability  of  our  being  struck  during  the  next  six 
years  is  reduced  to  one  half  of  nothing.  Q.  E.  D. 

The  patentee  did  not  seem  to  see  it,  but  there  it  is. 
If  any  body  can  find  a  flaw  in  the  reasoning,  let  him. 
show  it. 

Yet  I  am  fain  to  confess  this  demonstration,  lucid  and 
satisfactory  as  it  is,  to  be  more  comfortable  under  a 
clear  sky  than  a  clouded  one.  When  the  west  begins 
to  scowl,  I  begin  to  distrust  my  ciphering,  and  would 
give  up  a  mathematical  certainty  any  time  for  a  good 
set  of  lightning-rods.  Not  so  my  neighbor.  "You 
may  stick  up  as  many  prongs  as  you  like,"  she  says 
energetically  to  her  husband,  who  is  dallying  with  the 
agent  that  peddles  them,  "  but  I  shall  go  over  to  Aunt 
Kuth's  and  sit,  every  time  there  is  a  thunder-storm,  if 
you  do !" 

The  rain-drops  grow  fewer  and  fainter.  The  birds 
twitter  out  afresh.  The  flowers  shake  the  big  drops  off, 
and  begin  to  look  about  them.  The  air  is  heavy  with 
numberless  sweet  odors — the  newly  distilled  balm  of  a 
thousand  flowers.  A  healthy  evening  red  stains  the 
softening  sky.  The  village  girls  come  loitering  down 
the  road;  little  maids  are  chattering  like  magpies,  and 


184:  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX, 

little  boys  paddling  barefoot  through  the  puddles.  Two 
dainty  damsels  stroll  slowly  ahead  of  the  others.  The 
sunset  glow  lights  up  the  brown  curls  of  one  to  softest 
gold,  and  lends  a  dazzling  bloom  to  the  ruddy  cheeks 
of  the  other.  I  know  them,  good,  honest,  wholesome 
country-girls ;  but  gliding  along  under  the  trees,  their 
white  gossamer  garments  floating  in  the  evening  breeze, 
they  look  like  angels  just  alighted — ah!  this  is  what 
they  are  waiting  for,  then!  What?  Do  you  think  I 
will  tell?  If  to  other  eyes  than  mine  they  look  like 
angels,  and  if  angels  choose  to  keep  tryst  under  our 
apple-trees,  am  I  such  a  marplot  that  I  will  blab  it  to 
all  the  world  ? 

The  front  gate  clicks  again — a  troop  of  shining  ones 
come  floating  up  our  steps,  and  more  ambrosia,  I  sus 
pect,  lies  hidden  under  that  napkin's  snowy  folds.  Lift 
its  fringed  edges.  Creamy  cheese,  the  clover  and  vio 
lets  of  our  own  meadows ;  golden  butter,  that  has  hard 
ly  yet  forgotten  to  be  buttercups;  light,  white,  tooth 
some  bread;  blocks  of  rich  sweetness,  that  the  vulgar 
call  cake ;  triangles  of  lemon  and  sugar  and  snow-flakes, 
which  school-boys  know  as  pie —  Ah !  these  country 
neighbors  are  astir  again,  and  thus  their  paths  drop  fat 
ness. 

Beloved  and  beautiful,  my  Applethorpc !  I  know  not 
if  the  stranger's  eye  finds  in  you  any  thing  to  be  de 
sired  ;  but  I  better  love  the  ripple  of  your  quiet  stream 
than  all  the  mountain-waves  of  the  sea.  Dear  to  me  is 
every  shadow  of  your  woods,  every  swell  of  your  hills, 
every  dimple  of  your  dells.  Your  green  lanes  woo  me 
through  enchanted  places,  and  on  your  blue  lakes  rests 
the  srnile  of  Heaven. 


CONFERENCE  \YROXG  SIDE  OUT.  185 


CONFERENCE  WRONG  SIDE  OUT. 

THE  minister  had  gone  to  New  York  to  marry  his 
sister,  the  lawyer  was  off  on  circuit,  the  deacon  was  laid 
up  at  home  with  a  sprained  ankle,  and  the  Conference 
was  coming.  What  should  we  do? 

Do?  AVhy,  there  was  the  church  to  be  tidied  up, 
the  vestry  to  be  cleaned,  tables  to  be  made  and  spread, 
crockery  ware  to  be  bought,  begged,  borrowed,  and 
broken,  food  to  be  cooked  by  the  cargo,  and  coffee  and 
tea  to  be  made  by  the  barrel.  I  could  not  get  an  apple 
gathered  or  a  log  split  for  a  fortnight,  because  "I've 
got  to  work  up  't  the  meetin'-house.  You  know  Con 
ference  is  comiii'."  Yes,  all  the  autumn,  Conference 
darkled  vaguely  in  the  horizon,  and  it  was  when  Octo 
ber  shimmered  brown  and  gold  and  glorious,  and  Con 
ference  bore  down  upon  us  under  full  sail,  near  and  in 
evitable,  that  the  minister  must  needs  go  off  a-marry- 
ing,  the  lawyer  a-courting,  and  the  deacon  a-spraining 
his  ankle.  So  we  laity  were  left  to  prepare  the  way 
for  a  Conference  which  was  used  to  good  eating,  and 
•which  we  could  not  let  starve  on  our  hands  without 
incurring  perpetual  disgrace.  "  Besides,"  said  Confer 
ence-goers  among  our  brethren  and  sisters,  "  we  have 
been  to  Conference  and  got  great  dinners,  and  we  will 
give  them  as  good  as  they  send." 


186  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

It  is  a  praiseworthy  principle.  Sealed  be  the  lips 
that  would  gainsay  it! 

So,  as  foreordained  from,  the  pulpit,  we  gather  to  the 
preliminary  meeting  in  the  vestry,  for  we  are  advocates 
of  law  and  order.  We  will  have  organization  and  a 
moderator.  No  mob-rule  for  us.  In  the  vestry  the 
women  are  merry  and  many ;  the  men  are  two,  and 
forlorn.  The  women  hold  seats  on  the  right,  as  is  their 
wont;  they  are  fired  with  ambition,  filled  with  plans 
and  enthusiasm;  they  talk  in  loud  whispers,  confuse 
each  other  with  cross  remarks,  and  look  daggers  over 
at  the  two  lonesome,  unhappy  men,  who  flatter  them 
selves  they  are  talking  together,  but  really,  with  hearts 
of  lead,  are  only  striving  to  pass  away  the  time,  and 
wishing  that  Bliicher  or  night  were  come,  and  wonder 
ing  what  they  shall  do  if  neither  Bliicher  nor  night  ap 
pears. 

"Come  now,"  says  a  woman,  energetically,  "go  and 
shut  those  two  men  up  in  the  small  vestry,  and  let  us 
proceed  to  business." 

For  we  are  all  woman's  rights  here,  every  mother's 
son  of  us,  and  knowing,' dare  maintain — that  is,  we  take 
our  rights  without  more  ado.  We  have  just  voted  that 
we  will  vote  in  church,  and  as  for  our  husbands,  we 
order  them  around  well  when  we  feel  like  it^  and  sub 
mit  to  nothing  but  fate.  Still,  we  do  our  bullying  by 
our  own  hearthstones,  and  sit  in  prayer-meeting  as  silent 
and  meek  as  any  subject  race,  to  the  annoyance  of  the 
free  white  males,  who  would  like  to  have  us  take  the 
burden  off  their  shoulders  by  "  offering  a  few  remarks  " 
at  the  Teachers'  Meeting  or  the  Sunday-school  Concert. 


CONFERENCE  WRONG  SIDE  OUT.  187 

But  we  won't.  We  prefer  to  sit  still,  and  criticise  their 
remarks  after  we  go  home. 

Finally,  as  the  cows  gradually  get  milked,  and  the 
horses  shod,  and  the  tale  of  human  shoes  made  up,  the 
men  drop  in  one  by  one ;  somebody  proposes  a  moder 
ator,  and  we  are  fairly  a-going.  Now,  as  we  are  all 
"  woman's  rights,"  this  would  seem  to  be  the  golden  op 
portunity  to  put  them  in  practice.  The  entertainment 
of  the  Conference  is  but  an  enlarged  hospitality,  and  we 
women  must  engineer  it  through.  Moreover,  the  Lord 
has  taken  away  our  three  masters  from  our  head  to-day, 
and  what  doth  hinder  that  we  should  not  be  our  own 
masters,  and  say  what  we  want,  and  what  we  will  have, 
and  what  we  will  do,  without  the  intervention  of  the 
tyrant  man  ? 

Wherefore,  the  chairman  being  chosen,  and  the  ma 
chinery  ready  to  begin,  we  all  sit  with  an  expectant 
look  in  our  eyes,  and  an  embarrassed  smile  on  our  lips, 
for  two  minutes.  The  men  think  they  will  give  the 
women  a  chance,  and  keep  still ;  and  the  women  think 
they  have  got  their  chance,  and  it  feels  like  a  very  large 
elephant  on  their  hands.  Presently  we  fall  simulta 
neously  to  nudging  each  other  to  speak. 

"  We  want  a  committee,"  whispers  Mrs.  A.,  from  one 
end  of  the  long  settee,  to  Mrs.  B.,  at  the  other. 

"  Then  you  get  up  and  say  so,"  says  Mrs.  B.,  senten- 
tiously,  which  is  not  encouraging. 

After  much  skirmish  in  whispers,  one  of  the  men 
rises  and  comes  over  to  us.  Oh !  wretched  renegades 
that  we  are,  disfranchised  and  degraded — the  ox  know- 
cth  his  owner,  and  the  ass  his  master's  crib.  No  sooner 


188  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

does  this  man  take  a  seat  on  our  settee  than  all  tlie  set 
tees  bow  down  and  do  obeisance  as  servilely  as  if  they 
believed  the  head  of  the  woman  was  the  man.  AVc 
pounce  upon  him,  we  twist  ourselves  around  to  face 
him,  we  shriek  at  him  in  horrid  whispers,  none  of  which 
can  he  distinguish ;  but  he  manages  to  strike  a  general 
average,  and  rises  to  move  that  a  committee  be  appoint 
ed.  The  motion  is  put  and  carried,  and  immediately  a 
lively  caucus  ensues  on  the  settees  as  to  the  appointees. 

"  Mrs.  C.,"  says  one. 

"Yes,  she  is  beautiful :  you  nominate  her." 

"  No,  you !"  with  expressive  pantomimic  gesture. 

The  little  lady  clears  her  throat,  and  tries  to  say  in 
stentorian  tones,  "  Mrs.  C. ;"  but  she  miscalculates  her 
force,  and  there  is  a,  decided  case  of  vox  faucibus  liccsit. 
Then  we  all  giggle. 

"Do  somebody  nominate  her," says  the  biggest  cow 
ard  among  us.  "Can't  you  just  say  Mrs.  J.  C. ?" — as 
if  it  were  as  easy  as  breathing,  she  herself  having  near 
ly  suffocated  in  the  attempt,  whereat  half  a  dozen  voices 
perpetrate  another  attack  on  the  good  name  of  Mrs.  C. 
But  as  each  voice  is  on  a  different  key,  and  as  they  all 
begin  with  a  wheeze  and  end  with  a  whisper,  and  as 
we  have  squatted  in  the  farthest  back  seats,  while  the 
chairman  is  at  the  other  end  under  the  pulpit,  the  nom 
inations  come  to  his  ear  only  as  a  gentle  inarticulate 
soughing.  Still,  he  evidently  thinks  something  is  going 
on,  and  stares  steadfastly  and  inquiringly  into  our  cor 
ner,  while  we  are  smothering  with  laughter  over  our 
prowess.  Presently  one  of  us  takes  her  life  in  her 
hands,  and  gathering  up  all  her  soul,  hurls  "Mrs.  J.  M. 


CONFERENCE  \VROXG  SIDE  OUT.  189 

C."  at  the  moderator,  in  a  voice  ringing  from  despera 
tion,  twice  as  loud  as  there  is  any  call  for,  and  then 
looks  back  upon  us  with  an  air  of  triumph,  evidently 
thinking  she  has  made  a  speech,  and  that  it  is  the  speech 
of  the  evening.  So  we  hitch  along,  canvassing  as  we 
go,  and  announcing  the  result  of  each  canvass  in  a  con 
fused  and  wabbling  chorus  of  squeaky,  husky  voices, 
because  nobody  ventures  to  speak  alone,  and  no  two 
can  agree  to  begin  at  the  same  instant,  till  the  committee 
is  chosen,  and  we  rest  on  our  arms  and  query  what  is 
to  be  done  next. 

We  do  not  think  of  any  thing,  but  choose  more  Com 
mittee,  when  somebody  brighter  than  the  rest  starts  up 
the  impertinent  question,  "What  is  this  committee  for 
that  we  have  already  chosen  ?" 

"Why — every  thing,"  we  say  blankly,  looking  from 
one  to  another. 

"  To  boss  the  job,"  says  the  carpenter,  who  has  joined 
us,  not  professionally,  however. 

"To  taste  the  things  that  are  brought  in,  and  see  if 
they  are  good,"  says  the  chairman  of  the  committee ;  his 
eyes  dilate  with  foretaste  of  the  feast. 

Here  it  is  suggested  on  the  slowly  darkening  "men's 
side"  that  no  one  has  kept  a  list  of  the  names.  The 
moderator  proposes  that  a  secretary  be  appointed.  Our 
mouth-piece  has — gallantly — no  doubt  the  ladies  will 
remember  everything;  still  it  maybe  advisable  to  have 
the  list  written,  and  he  will  act  as  secretary  if  any  one 
will  lend  him  a  pencil.  The  moderator  proffers  a  pen 
cil,  and  Mouth-piece  steals  a  march  upon  us  by  advan 
cing  to  the  front.  Hereupon  a  muffled  shriek  of  de- 


190  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

spair  proceeds  from  the  corner.  "Oh!  we  have  lost 
our  man."  "Ob  !  now  our  man  is  gone,  and  we  can't 
talk."  "  Oh !  make  him  corne  back  again."  But  he 
smiles  and  smiles  from  afar,  and  is  villain  enough  to 
know  when  he  is  well  off  and  stay  there ;  and  another 
king  arises,  seeing  our  bereaved  condition,  and  deigns 
to  come  over  and  help  us. 

"We  must  have  a  committee  to  take  care  of  the 
food,"  whispers  Mrs.  D. 

"  Yes,"  says  Mrs.  E.,  "  if  I  send  a  pie,  I  want  the  Con 
ference  folks  to  have  it.  I  don't  want  it  eaten  up  by 
small  boys !" 

"And  we  ought  to  have  a  committee  to  take  care  of 
what  is  left,  and  set  the  table  for  supper." 

"Why,  we  are  not  going  to  give  them  a  supper." 

"Yes,  we  are.  There  will  be  a  good  many  who 
won't  go  till  the  last  train,  and  will  want  a  supper." 

"You  have  too  many  on  committee  now,"  says  King 
Stork ;  "  you  don't  want  any  more." 

"And  who  is  going  to  do  all  the  work?"  we  demand, 
turning  upon  him  severely. 

"  Let  this  committee  call  in  as  much  assistance  as  they 
want,  but  let  them  be  responsible.  If  you  have  so  many 
committees,  there  is  no  head  and  no  responsibility." 

We  gaze  upon  him  with  pity,  remembering  the  long 
line  of  conferences  and  ordinations  and  tea-r>arties  that 

A 

have  made  our  village  history  a  trail  of  glory,  and  the 
innumerable  committees  under  which  our  fields  were 
won ;  but  we  remember  also  that  he  is  but  a  late-corner, 
who,  during  those  eventful  days,  was  wandering  in  some 
outer  darkness,  and  does  not  know  that  Britons  never 


COXFEEEXCE  WltOXG  SIDE  OUT.  191 

will  be  slaves;  awd  though  we  are  quite  willing  to  work 
day  and  night,  we  will  do  it  as  committee,  and  not  as 
the  menials  and  minions  of  a  committee!  Assistance, 
indeed  !  Thus  ever  is  the  civic  mind  overridden  by  or 
ganization,  and  would  sacrifice  the  noble  pride  of  the 
rural  districts  to  the  same  false  god. 

"  We  ought  to  have  a  committee  on  carriages,"  sug 
gests  one  of  the  elect  ladies. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  carriages  ?"  asks  King  Log. 

"  Why,  to  bring  the  people  to  and  from  the  station." 

"Nonsense.  If  they  are  well  they  can  walk,  and  if 
they  are  sick  they  had  better  stay  at  home." 

"But  the  ministers,  we  mustn't  make  them  walk." 
Forever  to  the  female  eye  is  your  clergyman  baked  of 
purest  porcelain  ;  no  common  earthenware  is  he. 

"Do  'em  good,"  rejoins  Earthenware,  brusquely; 
"  they  will  enjoy  it.  When  we  had  'the  ordination, 
didn't  Jeremy  Taylor  and  Jonathan  Edwards  walk  all 
the  way  and  think  it  was  fun?" 

The  elect  lady  is  silenced,  but  not  convinced.  Mean 
while  there  has  been  a  vote  taken,  and  she  holds  up  her 
hand.  "What  are  you  voting  for?  Take  down  your 
hand,"  cry  the  imperious  whispers. 

"  I  won't ;  I'm  going  to  vote." 

"But  you  are  voting  contrary-minded.  We've  all 
voted  for  Miss  Mary  B." 

"I  don't  care.  I'd  rather  be  contrary-minded  than 
lose  my  vote."  And  men  have  the  audacity  to  say 
that  in  the  kingdom  coming,  of  female  suffrage,  the  best 
women  will  not  vote! 

"  Take  Mrs.  X.  Y.  for  the  other  one." 


192  TWELVE  MILES  FltOX  A  LEMON. 

"  What  is  that?  Mrs.  X.  Y. ?  No,  she  is  deaf,  and 
she  told  me  it  was  no  use  to  put  her  on  any  thing. 
Why  don't  you  have  Mrs.  Q.  P.?" 

"  Mrs.  Q.  P. !  She  can't  come.  You  need  not  nomi 
nate  her." 

"  Why  can't  she?     She  is  a  real  good  hand." 

"But  don't  you  know?  She — why — she  has  a  little 
baby." 

"No,  she  hasn't  Iler  baby  is  t\vo  years  old,  and 
can  stay  with  its  grandmother." 

"But  she  has  another." 

" I  don't  believe  it!" 

"  It's  true." 

"  How  old  is  it,  come?" 

"  Born  in  July." 

"Well,  that's  news  to  me." 

Every  body  is  taken  aback,  and  the  whole  Confer 
ence  comes  to  a  dead  halt  over  this  problematical  baby ; 
but  the  definite  date  seems  to  silence  doubts.  If  you 
can  assert  that  a  baby  was  born  on  a  fixed  day,  it  fol 
lows  as  the  night  that  day  that  he  was  really  born. 
So  presently  we  return  to  business.  Shall  we  have  tea 
and  coffee?  No.  Tea,  but  not  coffee.  Yes,  tea  and 
coffee.  You  can't  make  them  both.  Mrs.  II.  says  you 
may  have  her  cooking-stove.  I  will  give  the  coffee 
rather  than  not  have  it.  How  much  tea  do  we  need  ? 
Oh!  twenty  or  thirty  pounds.  Absurd!  Six  pounds 
is  enough.  Why, .how  many  will  be  here?  Thirty 
churches  belong  to  the  Conference.  And  they  will  all 
come.  And  most  of  'em  won't  have  any  regular  meals 
for  two  days  beforehand,  so  as  to  get  up  an  appetite. 


CONFERENCE  WRONG  SIDE  OUT.  193 

Oh!  have  we  got  a  committee  to  go  around  and  see 
what  people  will  give?  If  we  don't,  they  will  all  send 
in  cake  or  pies,  and  we  sha'n't  have  any  bread  and  meat. 
La!  we  haven't  half  committees  enough.  We  ought  to 
have  sixteen  more  committees,  two  on  each.  Oh !  see 
how  Mrs.  M.  wants  to  be  in  office!  She  thinks  if  there 
are  sixteen  she  will  stand  a  chance.  Why  look !  Mrs. 
N.  and  Mrs.  O.  aren't  on  any  thing.  They  ought  to  be, 
they  are  so  public-spirited.  Well,  make  a  committee 
and  put  them  on.  But  we've. got  committees  on  every 
thing  you  can  think  of.  Make  a  general  committee, 
then.  But  the  first  was  a  general  committee.  And 
this  will  be  a  general-in-chief.  Make  it  quick.  And 
the  perplexed  King  Stork  puts  his  private  opinions  in 
his  pocket,  and  moves  that  Mr.  N.,  Mr.  O.,  Mr.  P.,  and 
Mr.  Q.  be  appointed  a  general  committee. 

"And  their  wives!"  yell  the  settees,  in  their  enraged 
whispers. 

"And  their  wives,"  echoes  the  mouth-piece,  subdued 
beyond  even  the  semblance  of  resistance. 

And  then,  having  formed  committees  enough  to  get 
ourselves  all  in  honorable  positions,  we  depart  in  peace; 
not  fancying  that  we  have  made  a  brilliant  stand  for 
woman's  rights, .but  firm  in  the  faith  that  we  shall  come 
out  strong  on  the  Conference  dinner.  And  if  you  win 
the  battle,  what  matter  whether  }*ou  do  it  by  Hardee's 
tactics  or  your  own  ? 

Conference  Right  Side  Out  is  a  very  different  and  a 
very  decorous  thing.  No  committee,  no  squeaky  voices, 
no  seven  women  laying  hold  of  one  man,  no  croaking 
about  cooking  or  pottering  about  pottery,  but  a  digni- 

9 


19-1  TWEL  VE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

fied  assembly  of  clergy  and  delegates  met  to  report  on 
the  state  and  progress  of  tbeir  several  Zions,  to  hear  a 
memorial  sermon,  to  take  counsel  with  each  other  on 
the  work  of  the  Lord,  and  stir  up  their  own  pure  minds 
by  way  of  remembrance.  Still,  if  you  ask  how  the  Con 
ference  was,  ten  to  one  the  delighted  villager  will  reply, 
enthusiastically : 

"Oh!  every  thing  went  beautifully.  There  were 
two  hundred  and  fifty  people  sat  down  to  dinner,  and 
enough  for  every  body,  and  plenty  left  The  baked 
beans  and  brown-bread  went  like  every  thing." 

Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us!  I  wish  to 
know  if  the  churches  are  sound  in  the  faith  and  alive 
in  the  spirit,  and  I  am  answered  in  baked  beans !  Yes, 
and  I  venture  to  say,  if  we  could  get  at  the  core  of 
things,  good  Christians  as  we  all  are,  though  we  don't 
all  know  it,  that  not  one  of  us  who  receive  the  Confer 
ence  takes  the  least  thought  for  the  state  of  the  churches. 
What  we  had  at  heart  was  to  furnish  a  good  dinner  for 
the  clergy  and  the  laitj-. 

And  how  they  did  come !  It  rained  almost  inces 
santly,  and  we  all  know  the  frantic  efforts  of  the  minis 
ters  and  the  religious  newspapers  to  make  people  dis 
regard  the  weather  on  Sundays,  and  the  blank  array  of 
empty  pews  with  which  people  respond  whenever  there 
is  a  cloud  in  the  sky  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand.  So 
we  went  to  church  bemoaning  our  loaded  hampers,  and 
resolving  to  stay  and  dine  ourselves  rather  than  our 
viands  should  be  lost — especially  as  we  had  no  dinner 
at  home — and  lo !  a  great  multitude  had  gone  up  to  the 
courts  of  the  Lord,  and  our  pews  were  full  in  spite  of 


COXFERESCE  WROSG  SIDE  OUT.  105 

the  rain,  and  those  of  us  who  came  to  eat  remained  to 
serve. 

"What  shall  \ve  do  with  our  loaves  and  fishes?' 
communed  the  villagers  on  their  way  to  the  tabernacle. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  the  people  that  have  come 
to  eat  them?"  they  asked,  in  the  consternation  of  hospi 
tality,  when  the  tabernacle  door  flew  open  to  the  throng 
that  gathered  there. 

I  must  confess  I  attempted'to  stir  up  sedition,  but  met 
with  inglorious  failure.  Seeing  the  chaos  and  care,  the 
tables  to  be  made,  the  settees  to  be  turned  and  over 
turned,  the  order  to  be  disordered,  and  the  disorder  to 
be  reorganized  into  order,  I  said,  "It  is  too  much  work. 
It  is  fatiguing  to  think  of."  And  every  body  cried  with 
one  voice,  "Not  in  the  least!"  Indeed,  they  were  as 
blithe  as  blackbirds,  and  as  chattering.  It  was  fun,  and 
society,  and  good  cheer.  The  more  the  merrier,  both 
of  hosts  and  guests;  so  then  I  turned  right  about  face, 
determined  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  the  existing  order  of 
things  somehow,  and  said  :  "  This  shows  how  much  we 
need  amusements.  This  Conference  is  a  sort  of  eccle 
siastical  ball  and  supper.  They  are  talking  instead  of 
dancing  up  in  the  ball-room,  but  they  look  not  much 
more  solemn  than  the  average  American  going  through 
a  cotillon,  and  I  reckon  the  average  cotillon  American 
does  not  cheat  in  trade,  does  not  snub  his  wife,  does  not 
lose  his  temper  much  oftener  than  the  average  church 
American.  But  we  churchlings  have  so  discounte 
nanced  amusements  that  we  are  infinitely  amused  by 
so  small  a  change  in  our  daily  life  as  doing  by  the 
dozen  once,  in  seven  years  what  we  do  singly  at  home 


196  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOS. 

every  day.  The  pleasure  of  getting  out  of  the  narrow- 
routine  of  home,  of  getting  together  with  our  friends 
find  neighbors,  takes  the  wear  and  tear  out  of  the  work, 
and  instead  of  wearying  refreshes  and  heartens  us. 
Why  do  we  not,  then,  learn  a  lesson  from  this,  and  in 
vent  pleasant  little  assemblies  for  and  of  ourselves,  with 
or  without  baked  beans,  where  young  and  old  can  meet 
and  chat  and  sing  and  play  such  games  as  do  not  go 
against  the  conscience  of  the  brethren? — "and  retail 
gossip,  tittle-tattle,  scandal,  and  slander,"  say  the  purists 
and  wiseacres  who  have  been  reared  in  the  belief  that 
such  is  the  black  catalogue  and  history  of  village  sew 
ing  societies. 

Well,  villagers  might  be  guilty  of  worse  crimes. 
Scandal,  slander,  gossip,  tittle-tattle  —  hard  names  all. 
And  rough  usage  dealers  in  such  wares  receive  at  the 
hands  of  the  theorists.  But  are  the  little  imps  quite  as 
black  as  they  are  painted? 

Humanity,  as  it  lies  under  our  observation,  exists  in 
three  layers.  The  first  is  the  superficially  polite  and 
smiling  one.  The  neighbors  call  on  }'ou,  and  you  re 
turn  their  calls.  You  meet  them  in  the  street  and  at 
church.  All  is  civility,  kindness,  and  good-fellowship. 
That  is  layer  number  one. 

Then  you  fail  in  business,  your  lover  jilts  you,  you 
quarrel  with  your  wife,  your  son  is  rusticated  at  col 
lege,  and  the  whole  world  turns  glad  and  malignant, 
and  the  air  is  darkened  with  the  cloud  of  bad,  false, 
harsh  rumors.  No  wonder  you  failed  in  business! 
You  have  been  living  extravagantly  these  five  years, 
with  purple  and  fine  linen  and  sumptuous  fare,  wine 


CONFERENCE  WRONG  SIDE  OUT.  197 

and  equipage,  endless  entertainment,  and  a  houseful  of 
servants — for  to  such  dimensions  swells  your  modest 
menage  under  the  magnifying-glass  of  your  excited 
neighbors.  Your  jilting  lover  has  ever  been  a  reluc 
tant  wooer;  your  wife  you  have  abused  since  the  first 
year  of  your  marriage ;  and  the  trouble  with  your  son 
is  that  he  made  himself  vile  and  you  restrained  him 
not,  and  now  he  has  killed  a  man,  and  is  hiding  from 
the  authorities  with  a  price  set  upon  his  head.  This  is 
layer  number  two ;  and  you  are  ready  to  rent  a  lodge 
in  some  vast  wilderness,  where  you  may  be  free  from 
the  sight  of  a  malicious,  evil-speaking  people,  that  re 
joices  in  its  neighbor's  misfortunes. 

But  give  your  auger  another  twist,  and  you  will  have 
penetrated  quite  through  this  bed  of  mire,  and  come 
into  another  stratum,  clean  and  wholesome,  and  purer 
and  finer  far  than  any  thing  you  have  yet  found. 
When  a  trouble  comes  whose  source  can  be  never  so 
faintly  traced  back  to  your  own  misdoing,  your  friends, 
it  must  be  confessed,  are  a  little  hard  on  you.  No  won 
der  your  wife  left  you;  you  have  always  been  mean 
and  tyrannical.  No  wonder  your  son  has  come  to 
grief;  you  always  gave  him  his  own  head.  The  glad 
ness  at  your  trouble  was  not  pure  malice,  but  somewhat 
an  intellectual  appreciation  of  the  inexorableness  of  law. 
There  is  a  sort  of  poetic  justice  in  the  succession  of 
cause  and  consequence  which  never  fails  to  give  pleas 
ure  except  to  the  persons  who  illustrate  it.  But  let 
your  son  be  brought  home  to  you  beaten  by  a  burglar 
to  the  point  of  danger,  if  not  death,  be  yourself  strick 
en  with  illness,  or  let  }-our  property  be  endangered  by  a 


198  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

fire  in  the  vicinity,  and  every  band  is  stretched  out  to 
help  you.  The  very  persons  who  would  be  the  first  to 
look  askance  upon  your  unwarranted  expenditure  will 
be  instant,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  for  your  solace 
and  relief.  They  will  run  to  fetch  the  doctor  for  3*011 
at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night.  They  will  watch  day 
after  day  by  your  sick-bed,  will  strain  their  ingenuity 
to  invent  some  appetizing  dish  for  your  dulled  taste, 
will  count  no  service  too  severe,  no  drudgery  too  me 
nial,  to  divest  you  of  care,  and  enable  you  to  give  your 
whole  thought  and  attention  to  the  recovery  of  your 
health.  When  your  house  is  threatened,  they  will  ex 
ert  every  faculty  to  save  it.  They  will  put  forth  pre 
cisely  as  much  effort  to  rescue  your  furniture  from  the 
flames  as  if  it  were  their  own  ;  and  when,  after  all,  your 
house  is  stripped  and  not  burned,  they  will  come  back 
next  day,  and  replace  your  goods  as  heartily  and  as 
thoroughly  as  they  snatched  them  off.  Nor  can  you 
help  a  certain  clutching  at  the  throat,  an  unsteadiness 
about  the  mouth,  a  mist  in  the  eyes,  a  pressure  at  the 
heart,  when  you  think  of  this  wonderful  brotherhood  of 
humanity — this  unspoken,  all-helpful  sympathy.  This 
is  layer  number  three,  and  however  deep  down  you  go 
you  will  find  nothing  deeper  to  neutralize  it. 

We  often  freight  words  with  a  heavier  meaning  than 
they  were  meant  to  bear.  We  give  to  expressed  disap 
probation  a  disproportionate  weight.  We  are  always 
trying  to  repress  gossip,  and  never  to  fortify  society 
against  it.  We  write  stories  showing  how  lovely  wom 
an  was  brought  to  her  grave  by  careless  rumor,  but  we 
never  show  how  foolish  it  was  in  the  lovely  woman  tc 


CONFERENCE  WRONG  SIDE  OUT.  199 

make  a  grave  matter  of  careless  rumor.  We  are  always 
training  the  tongue,  but  we  never  train  the  ear. 

"  If  you  would  always  be  discreet, 

Five  things  observe  with  care — 
Of  whom  you  speak,  to  whom  you  speak, 
And  how,  and  when,  and  where," 

says  Sir  Mentor,  and  fancies  he  lias  settled  the  whole 
matter;  but,  if  it  is  all  the  same  to  you,  Sir  Mentor,  we 
would  a  great  deal  rather  not  be  discreet  than  pay  such 
a  price  for  discretion.  Conversation  would  be  a  very 
lively  exercise,  picketed  around  with  these  five  points 
of  Calvinism!  A  far  better  way  is  to  estimate  gossip 
at  its  real  worth.  A  great  deal  that  "passes  for  scandal 
is  but  an  intellectual  exercise,  petty  for  want  of  some 
thing  larger,  but  sufficiently  innocent.  Malice,  willful 
falsehood,  carelessness  of  truth,  design  to  injure,  are  un- 
mitigatedly  bad,  and  ought  to  banish  their  proprietors 
from  society ;  but  curiosity — a  fondness  for  story-telling 
and  story-bearing  —  may  be  only  one  form  of  mental 
activity,  and  entirely  consistent  with  great  good-will. 
Let  us  give  in  to  it  with  what  grace  we  may — when  we 
have  guarded  ourselves  against  it  as  far  as  we  can. 
You  do  not  in.  the  least  care  how  many  handkerchiefs 
your  neighbor  has;  but  if  it  gratifies  her  to  know  how 
many  you  have,  let  her  count  them  on  the  clothes-line 
if  she  likes.  And  if  she  thinks  there  are  more  than 
an  economical  person  ought  to  have,  and  expresses  her 
opinion  in  the  vicinity,  what  harm  is  done?  You  need 
not  fling  it  at  her  the  next  time  you  see  her,  and  make 
her  uncomfortable.  It  is  not  necessary  that  every  body- 
should  npprovc  us  in  every  respect  before  we  can  be 


200  TWELVE  MILES  FJtOM  A  LElfOX. 

on  good  terms  with  him.  People  may  condemn  half 
the  traits  of  our  character  and  yet  find  enough  in  the 
other  half  to  insure  friendly  feeling  and  friendly  de 
meanor. 

And  half  a  loaf  is  so  much  better  than  sour  bread ! 

Why  not  have,  then,  a  little  neighborhood  conference 
every  month,  or  as  often  as  shall  seem  agreeable,  to 
which  good  manners  shall  be  the  only  entrance  fee,  and 
where  baked  beans  or  roasted  potatoes  shall  be  the 
inexpensive  but  sufficient  entertainment,  though  each 
may  bring  that  which  seems  good  in  his  own  eyes? 

This  would  make  the  church  the  recognized  social  as 
well  as  religious  centre,  and  might  somehow  equalize 
matters.  For  me,  I  am  amazed  at  the  goodness  of  the 
world,  its  forgiveness,  and  forbearance,  and  general  vir- 
tuousness.  Here  we  church-folk  berate  the  "  world's 
people"  every  Sunday  about  their  trespasses  and  sins, 
and  yet  no  sooner  do  we  get  up  a  Conference,  which  is 
exclusively  a  church  matter,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  world  except  to  burnish  up  the  weapons  wherewith 
we  mean  to  attack  it,  and  immediately  the  kindly,  hos 
pitable,  good-natured  world  forgets  all  the  hard  names 
we  have  been  calling  it;  turns  to  with  as  hearty  a  will 
as  if  it  were  in  good  and  regular  standing;  knocks  up 
tables  and  chairs,  provides  horses  and  carriages,  spreads 
thick  slices  of  bread  and  butter,  and  thin  slices  of  ham 
and  tongue,  all  one  as  if  we  had  not  ruled  it  out  of  the 
Kingdom  Come.  And  we  gladly  accept.  We  have  no 
intention  of  associating  with  it  in  the  next  world,  but  we 
are  very  glad  to  avail  ourselves  of  its  services  in  this. 
We  make  a  distinct  mark  on  the  sheep  of  our  fold,  and 


CONFERENCE  WRONG  SIDE  OUT.  201 

so  class  them  off  from  the  goats;  but  so  far  as  natural 
history  is  concerned  you  never  could  tell  them  apart. 

There  is,  I  regret  to  be  obliged  to  say,  one  drop  of 
bitterness  in  our  sweet  draught.  "We  did  not  have 
puddings  at  our  Conference.  To  be  sure,  we  did  not 
need  them.  Need  them  !  I  should  think !  Why,  wheit 
Mrs.  Betty  came  in,  erect  and  confident,  with  bag,  pail, 
and  pillow-case,  and  succinctly  inquired,  "Meat  cut  up 
yet?  Want  the  scraps,"  were  we  not  so  filled  with 
faith  in  our  resources  that,  though  the  meeting  was 
barely  begun  in  the  church  triumphant  above,  and  the 
tables  not  spread  in  the  church  militant  below,  gener 
ous  hands-  laid  hold  of  joints,  carved  out  bones,  and  cut 
off  gristle,  leaving  large  margins  of  meat,  made  odds 
and  ends  where  none  existed,  and  sent  Mrs.  Betty  away 
rejoicing,  to  feed  out  of  her  pillow-case  till  Thanks 
giving? 

No,  we  did  not  need  puddings,  nor  even  miss  them 
till  the  next  day,  when,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  they 
got  up  an  installation  in  the  neighboring  village,  which 
we  all  attended,  and  the  iron  entered  into  our  souls,  for 
they  installed  with  puddings!  In  every  other  respect 
we  think  we  held  our  own ;  but  those  frosted,  foamy 
puddings  gave  a  whiteness  and  delicacy  to  the  tables 
which  ours  lacked.  We  like  our  minister  too  well  to 
hope  for  an  installation  of  our  own,  and  the  Conference 
only  comes  round  once  in  seven  years;  but  I  warrant 
you  whoever  lives  to  see  that  day  will  see  something 
in  the  way  of  puddings  that  shall  make  all  his  previous 
experiences  of  frost  and  foam  seem  but  an  idle  dream. 

9* 


202  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 


XII. 
COUNTRY  CHARACTER. 

RUSTIC  simplicity  is  like  the  snakes  of  Ireland. 
There  is  no  rustic  simplicity.  At  least,  I  do  not  know 
•where  you  -will  find  it  outside  of  books.  What  with 
the  telegraph,  and  railroads,  and  lyceum  lectures,  and 
fashion  plates,  every  body  knows  every  thing.  Think 
no  more,  oh  city-zen,  of  coming  down  into  our  solitude 
to  astonish  and  captivate  us  with  your  airs  and  graces. 
"We  know  how  broad  phylacteries  ought  to  be  as  well 
as  you.  We  know  where  the  flounces  go,  what  colors 
blend,  what  shades  are  stylish,  which  way  stripes  ought 
to  run.  Do  not  think  to  overtop  us  with  your  Tyrolese 
peaks,  or  overpile  us  with  your  puffs  and  paniers.  Go 
into  our  church,  and  learn  that  we  worship  just  as  de 
voutly  as  you,  \vith  knots  just  as  bright,  heels  just  as 
high,  and  hats  just  as  daintily  poised  on  the  tips  of  our 
noses  or  the  backs  of  our  heads.  Ignorance  is  igno 
rance,  and  vulgarity  is  vulgarity,  but  their  existence  no 
longer  depends  on  locality  or  population.  Mr.  Justin 
M'Carthy  thinks  that  American  men  are  particularly 
fine-looking,  and  some  one,  commenting  on  Mr.  M'Car 
thy,  says  these  fine-looking  men  are  generally  city-bred. 
Very  likely.  We  talk  prettily  about  many  things,  and, 
among  others,  of  the  healthiness  and  desirableness  of 
farming;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  no  man  sooner  mars 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  203 

the  comeliness  which  his  Maker  gave  him  than  the  con 
firmed  farmer,  the  actual,  hard-working  farmer.  The 
man  who  depends  upon  his  farm  for  his  subsistence  is 
very  apt  to  be  early  wrinkled,  bent,  bald,  rheumatic; 
he  comes  to  have  a  hard,  shrunk,  shriveled  look.  Too 
often  he  bequeaths  to  his  children  diminished  stature 
and  enfeebled  frames.  City  folk  are  constantly  urging 
young  men  to  remain  in  the  country,  and  warning  them 
of  the  certain  struggle  and  possible  failure  that  await 
them  in.  the  city;  but  the  country  lads  see  sights  which 
impress  them  more  than  a  thousand  newspapers.  They 
see  the  country  lad  who  went  up  to  the  city  years  ago 
grown  now  into  a  stout,  healthy,  handsome  man.  He 
stands  erect,  he  walks  elastic,  and  his  clothes  fit !  Every 
thing  betokens  self-confidence,  a  man  at  peace  with  him 
self  and  the  world,  a  life  that  has  had  in  it  satisfaction 
and  enjoyment.  His  brothers,  who  staid  at  home  on 
the  farm,  or  in  its  attendant  shop,  present  a  contrast  al 
most  pathetic.  They  are  round-shouldered,  and  gaunt 
from  constant  toil  and  exposure.  They  have  not  the 
air  of  command  and  possession.  They  are  men  whom 
the  world  has  pressed  hard,  not  men  who  have  con 
quered  the  world.  Their  fate  is  not  enticing,  yet  they 
see  many  things. 

"Yes,"  says  my  friend,  the  forester,  "I  got  up  and 
went  off  to  work  at  seven  in  the  morning  about  every 
day  last  winter." 

"It  was  you,  then,  whom  I  used  to  see  going  across 
the  fields  so  regularly  ?" 

"  With  a  tin  pail?     Yes,  that  was  me." 

"You  carried  your  dinner,  and  staid  all  day?" 


20±  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

"  Yes,  Sam  and  me,  we  cut  twenty-five  cord  of  wood, 
one  job.  That's  pretty  hard  work — a  cord  of  wood  a 
day.  Wnst  of  it  was  bavin'  your  feet  soppin'  wet. 
We  had  to  stand  in  the  water  and  slosh  clearn  up  to 
here." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  have  frozen." 

"  Did.     I  froze  one  side  of  my  foot  a  little." 

"Did  it  give  you  any  trouble?" 

"  Lor'  no !  I'se  out  there  all  winter,  working  in  the 
cold,  and  never  got  cold.  Then  I  come  home  and  lay 
round  a  coal  stove,  an'  goin'  out  an'  in,  an'  got  an  awful 
cold." 

"But  did  not  your  dinner  freeze?" 

"Yes.  The'  want  no  other  way.  But  there,  you 
couldn't  do  it  if  you  hadn't  got  a  constitution  to  lay 
out  on." 

"But  isn't  it  a  pity  to  lay  your  constitution  out  on- 
such  a  hard  undertaking?" 

"  Well,  you  must  do  what  comes  to  hand.  Jem,  now, 
will  make  five  hundred  dollars  out  of  that  lot.  That's 
my  cal'lation  ;  and  I  got  a  good  job,  though  it  was  a  pret 
ty  tough  one.  There's  a  few  men  in  this  town  that's  in 
dependent,  and  I'm  glad  of  it;  but  I  ain't  one  of  them." 

"Who  are  they,  for  instance?"  for  I  seem  to  see  a 
mischievous  twinkle  in  his  demure  eye. 

"  Wall,  there's  Ed  Stanley  keeps  a  horse  and  carriage, 
and  rides  round,  and  lives  on  the  interest  of  his  money." 
The  sly-boots !  He  knows  every  one  is  concerned  only 
to  see  how  severe  will  be  the  jerk  when  Ed  Stanley 
comes  to  the  end  of  his  very  short  rope.  For  ropes 
have  an  end,  and,  if  they  are  forever  unrolled,  the  owner 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  205 

will  find  it,  whether  he  be  Marquis  of  Hastings  or  a 
village  tailor;  fortunate  if  he  do  not  find  it  around  his 
neck." 

"How  long  do  you  suppose  the  interest  will  last?" 

"  Oh !  I  do'  know  that.  'Tvvould  last  a  good  while 
if  it  did  not  take  so  much  to  live  on.  Now  in  my  line, 
you  see,  it  takes  a  good  deal  just  to  live  on.  Work  up 
to  your  knees  in  slosh,  and  you  don't  want  much  plum- 
cake  or  frosted  cake,  but  somethin'  that's  got  some  hold 
onto  it." 

"  That  makes  work  to  do  at  home." 

"  That's  so.  But  then,  when  I  was  out  there,  I  used, 
mostly,  to  get  breakfast  myself,  and  let  the  woman  lay 
abed." 

u  YOU  did  r 

"Yes.  I'd  rather.  Bread  was  all  made,  an'  I'd  just 
make  the  coffee  and  broil  a  steak." 

"How  came  you  to  know  ho,w?" 

"  Oh !  I  can  cook.  I  don't  like  to,  but  I  can  do  it, 
and  it's  a  great  deal  better  than  to  have  her  up  before 
daylight  and  then  round  alone  all  day." 

"That  is  a  thousand  times  true  and  thoughtful  and 
considerate;  but  I  don't  see  how  your  itnregenerate 
mind  ever  came  to  think  of  it." 

"Oh,  I've  thought  of  a  good  many  things  browsing 
along,  like,  and,  between  you  and  me  and  the  post,  I 
think  the  women  have  the  hardest  time.  I've  done 
woman's  work  a  good  many  times  at  a  pinch,  fust  and 
last,  and  I  vow  I'd  rather  do  my  own.  It's  the  easiest 
in  the  long  run.  But  la !  settin'  round  at  home,  I'd  just 
as  lievcs  clap  a  piece  of  pork  on  the  fire  as  not." 


206  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

"  You  are  like  all  the  rest  of  us ;  that  is,  work  that 
is  not  work  you  like,  and  for  the  rest  you  will  do  what 
you  must,  without  whining." 

"That's  so;  but  then,  some  work  with  their  head.^, 
and  some  with  their  hands.  Some  heads  are  better 
than  others — different  from  others,  at  least.  Now,  if  I 
had  had  all  the  advantages — I  did  have  a  good  many 
— I  went  to  school ;  but,  if  I  had  gone  to  school  till  I 
was  as  old  as  Noah,  I  never  should  have  been  a  Rufns 
Choate  or  a  Daniel  Webster.  You  see,  the  mind  acts 
in  that  line,  and  ambition  goes  along  with  it." 

"Yet  in  hand  labor  one  needs  brains." 

"That's  so.  You  want  brains  in  funning — need  to 
use  a  great  deal  of  judgment.  If  it's  only  going  into 
the  woods  to  cut  a  cord  of  wood,  there's  an  advantage 
to  be  taken.  One  will  do  more  work  in  less  time  than 
another,  just  from  the  way  he  takes  hold.  One  comes 
in,  all  of  a  breeze,  and  goes  right  into  it,  and  don't  do 
so  much  as  a  man  who  looks  round  and  gets  the  ad 
vantage." 

I  am  sure  I  have  heard  that  said  before  in  more 
pompous  phrase. 

Here  is  a  book,  printed  in  London  just  a  hundred 
}*ears  ago,  called  "The  Rural  Socrates:  being  Memories 
of  a  Country  Philosopher.  Translated  from  the  French.'' 
The  French,  I  fancy,  had  very  little  to  do  with  it.  My 
copy  says  it  was  written  by  Hon.  Benjamin  Yaughan, 
of  Hallowell,  Maine,  a  follower  of  Priestley  to  this  coun 
try,  once  a  Member  of  Parliament,  and  a  practical  farm 
er  of  skill  and  good  sense.  The  traditions  of  his  adopt 
ed  home  report  him  as  a  white-haired,  fine-looking  gen- 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  207 

tleman  of  the  old  school,  without  fear  and  without  re 
proach.  Thus  statelily  discourseth  rny  gentleman  of  the 
old  school : 

"I  have  studied  with  uncommon  assiduity  the  char 
acters  of  men  of  every  profession,  who  have  been  distin 
guished  for  prudence  and  understanding.  I  observed, 
with  astonishment,  that,  among  those  engaged  in  the 
same  occupations,  some  were  riveted  in  penury  and 
want,  while  others  enjoyed  affluence  and  ease.  The 
cause  of  this  inequality  seemed  worthy  of  the  exactest 
and  most  accurate  examination ;  and  the  pains  I  took 
to  investigate  it  at  length  succeeded :  I  perceived  that 
those  persons  who  formed  no  regular  plan  of  life, 
strangers  to  reflection  and  foresight,  thoughtless  of  to 
morrow,  were,  by  the  .negligence  of  their  conduct,  the 
sole  authors  of  their  own  distresses  and  disappointments. 
Those,  on  the  contrary,  whose  steady  and  enlarged  prin 
ciples  govern  and  guide  their  sagacious  and  determined 
views  ;  who  unite,  in  their  several  professions,  diligence 
and  attention,  order  and  punctuality,  qualities  which 
smooth  the  rugged  paths  of  life,  will  find  the  journey 
more  easy,  more  speedy,  and  infinitely  more  lucrative. 
These  are  maxims  which  whoever  attends  to  must  gain 
his  point,  in  defiance  of  opposition,  and  amass  wealth, 
should  the  malignity  of  men  or  demons  endeavor  to 
wrest  it  from  him." 

This  Rural  Socrates  speaks  from  the  gathered  wisdom 
of  the  centuries  and  the  amenities  of  a  scholarly  and 
courtly  life.  My  Rural  Socrates  has  behind  him.  only 
the  courtesies  of  the  corn-field  and  the  wisdom  of  the 
wood  lot;  yet  it  seems  to  me  he  goes  by  a  shorter  cut 


208  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

to  the  same  core  of  truth  around  which  our  majestic 
philosopher  circumambulates  with  so  much  dignity. 

"That's  so,"  says  my  Socrates,  who  listens  to  my 
reading  of  the  extract  with  grave  and  critical  attention. 
"It's  all  cal'Jation.  You  may  work,  but  it's  cal'lation 
that  makes  you  rich.  Jest  so  in  the  house." — Oh !  true 
man!  always  taking  refuge  from  his  own  sins  in  "the 
woman  whom  Thou  gavest  to  be  with  me!" — "One 
woman  will  make  a  good  meal  out  of  nothin',  you  may 
say;  it's  wholesome,  and  palatable,  and — good.  And 
another  woman  will  take  the  same,  and  you — jest  pass 
it  outdoors.  The  difference  is  —  now  you  won't  write 
a  book  about  me  ?;? 

"Yes,  I  will — report  every  word.     Go  on." 

"It  all  depends  on  the  woman.  A  woman  can  throw 
out  of  the  window,  with  a  tea-spoon,  more  than  a  man 
can  bring  in  at  the  front  door  with  a  shovel." 

"Of  course  she  can.  my  Socrates,  woman  being  the 
superior  person ;  and  never  is  her  superiority  more 
brilliantly  proven  than  in  this  very  fact :  that  with  her 
delicate,  dainty,  silver  tea-spoon  she  not  only  purifies 
her  house  of  all  the  dirt  and  rubbish  which  her  hus 
band  brings  in  with  his  huge,  unsightly  shovel  where 
shovels  do  not  belong,  but  she  leaves  a  margin  of  clean 
liness,  as  your  own  self  admits.  Besides  divesting  the 
house  of  his  impurity,  she  invests  it  with  her  own  beau- 
ty,eh?" 

Possibly  my  Rural  Socrates  did  not  mean  precisely 
this,  but  he  shoulders  his  shovel  and  walks  off  with  an 
indescribable,  twinkling,  appreciative,  yet  sober  smile 

But  now  comes  up  a  greater  than  Socrates,  who  is  not 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  209 

to  be  so  easily  dislodged.  Says  Horace  Greeley  :*  "  My 
father  was  of  this  [the  farming]  class,  as  my  only  broth 
er  is;  so  were  both  my  grandfathers,  and  their  ances 
tors,  so  far  as  I  can  trace  them.  My  paternal  grand 
father  raised  nine  sons  and  four  daughters,  and  never 
was  worth  $2000  in  any  one  of  his  ninety-four  years. 
My  father  was  an  unusually  hard  worker,  always  a 
farmer,  never  worth  $2000,  generally  worth  from  0  up 
to  $500;  he  died  eighty-six  years  old,  and  five  of  his 
seven  children  survive,  from  sixty  to  forty-nine  years 
old.  (The  two  earliest  died  in  infancy.)  My  uncle 
John,  born  two  years  after  my  father,  has  been  a  farmer 
all  his  life;  he  is  now  eighty-seven  years  old,  but  erect 
and  vigorous;  his  eye  bright,  and  his  voice  as  full  and 
ringing  as  most  men's  at  fifty.  lie  is  the  last  of  the 
thirteen  children  of  my  grandfather;  one  only  died  of 
consumption  at  thirty-three  years  of  age,  leaving  six 
children,  of  whom  five  are  still  with  us;  the  rest  of  my 
father's  brothers  and  sisters  lived  to  be  from  seventy  to 
eighty  years  old,  except  one  who  died  at  fifty,  and  he 
was  not  a  habitual  worker.  All  the  rest  were  farmers 
or  farmers'  wives — none  of  them  ever  rich ;  most  of 
them  quite  poor ;  yet  not  one  of  them  all  was  prema 
turely  '  wrinkled,  bent,  or  bald ;'  not  one  of  them  be 
queathed  to  his  children  (and  all  of  them  had  children) 
'diminished  stature'  or  'enfeebled  frames.'  Here  is 
a  large  family  of  poor,  and  generally  hard-working 
farmers,  the  descendants  of  a  race  of  just  such,  who  have 
lived  by  tilling  the  hard,  rocky  soil  of  New  Hampshire 

*  It  is,  perhaps,  needless  to  say  that  this  was  written  before  Mr. 
Greeley's  death. 


210  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

since  the  year  1640 I  happen  to  be  the  only  one 

of  the  crowd  who  might  be  called  'bald.'  I  was  move 
'bent'  at  forty  than  my  father  or  his  father  at  seventy; 
and  I  am  the  only  one  who  earned  his  livelihood  other 
wise  than  by  farming I  have  been  here  [in  the  citv] 

forty  years,  neither  thoughtless  nor  unobservant;  and, 
in  my  judgment,  more  country -born  men  have  died  here 
in  prisons,  hospitals  and  the  alms-house,  in  those  forty 
years,  than  have  achieved  even  a  modest  competence. 
And  day  after  day  my  soul  sickens  at  the  never-ending 
procession  of  the  multitude  who  crawl  on  the  knees  of 
their  spirits  to  those  who  have  achieved  position  and 
means,  with  the  beggar's  petition:  'Please  give  me 
something  to  do.'" 

Alas!  I  am  in  an  evil  case.  I  have  made  an  asser 
tion  which  I  can  not  prove.  I  spoke  of  the  attractions 
of  city  life  to  country  folk,  and  contrasted  the  erect 
figure  and  clastic  step  of  the  lad  who  went  to  the  city 
and  made  his  fortune,  with  his  prematurely  bald,  bent, 
rheumatic  comrades  who  fought  it  out  on  the  farm ; 
and  down  comes  Mr.  Greeley  upon  me  with  a  regiment 
of  uncles,  aunts,  and  grandfathers,  all  farmers,  all  straight, 
smooth,  hairy,  and  hundreds  of  years  old,  and  marshals 
them  "in  opposition  to  my  naked  assertion." 

And  I  can  not  answer  back.  It  is  all  very  well  to 
bring  on  your  bright-eyed,  heavy-haired  ancestry  to 
confute  and  confound  your  foes;  but  think  of  the  she- 
bears  that  would  come  out  of  the  woods  to  tear  me  in 
pieces  should  I  go  around  among  my  kinsfolk  and  ac 
quaintance,  and  say  to  one  and  another,  "Go  up,  thoir 
bald-head.  Go  up,  thou  bald-head,  and  show  thyself  to 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  211 

Horace  Greeley  in  proof  of  my  veracity."  No,  my 
"naked  assertion"  must  still  stand  unclothed  upon,  for 
I  can  not  afford  to  pay  the  price  of  a  wardrobe.  Yet  I 
did  draw  from  life,  not  upon  imagination.  My  painting 
was  a  portrait,  and  no  fancy  sketch.  My  generaliza 
tion  may  have  been  wrong,  but  my  observation  was 
right — unless,  indeed,  I  arn  called  on  to  prove  it  in  a 
court  of  law,  in  which  case  I  shall  not  only  deny  its  cor 
rectness,  but  shall  stoutly  maintain  that  I  never  made 
it! 

And  no  more  than  I  can  prove  my  own  statements, 
can  I  disprove  Mr.  Greeley's ;  but  I  can  do  the  next 
best  thing,  and  show  that  they  do  not  amount  to  any 
thing.  I  admit  that  his  family  are  all  as  tall,  and  hale, 
and  old  as  he  represents,  though  I  have  seen  none  of 
them.  But  I  have  seen  him.  Now,  he  says  he  is  the 
most  "bald"  and  "bent"  of  the  whole  crowd;  thinks 
he  works  harder  at  sixty  than  his  farming  friends  did 
at  thirty  ;  and,  with  all  his  hard  city  work  and  city  care, 
he  has  a  face  like  the  full  moon  for  roundness,  and  fair 
ness,  and  placidity,  and  his  voice  is  the  voice  of  tran 
quillity,  and  his  step  is  the  step  of  abstraction,  undis 
turbed  by  hurry.  When,  therefore,  he  arrays  his  farm 
ing  friends  against  my  farming  facts,  I  simply  set  his 
cit}*"  face  against  his  city  facts,  and,  if  that  is  not  a  vic 
tory,  it  is  at  least  a  dead-lock !  We  are  just  where  we 
were  when  we  started,  for  the  Greeleys  are  all  hand 
some  together,  and  ruled  out  of  court. 

What  /know  about  farming  is  that,  as  it  exists  be 
fore  my  eyes,  it  is  hard  work,  and  wearing  work,  and 
uncertain  work — or  rather  uncertain  wao:o.  In  the  Ions; 


212  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

run,  I  suppose,  a  man  is  as  sure  of  getting  a  living  off  a 
farm  as  anywhere  else,  but  be  is  tolerably  sure  of  not 
getting  much  more  than  a  living.  In  that  sense,  indeed, 
farming  is  certain  work.  Mr.  Greeley's  own  figures  show 
this.  Jf  farmers  are  healthy,  happy,  and  wise,  of  course 
it  is  immaterial  whether  they  are  worth  two  thousand 
or  two  millions  of  dollars ;  but  as  things  go,  the  prospect 
of  working  hard  for  ninety-four  years,  and  never  having 
more  than  two  thousand  dollars  to  show  for  it,  is  any 
thing  but  an  enchanting  one.  Mr.  Greeley  may  sing 
idyls  all  his  life,  but  his  good,  calm  face,  his  exalted 
position,  and  the  rumors  of  the  fortunes  he  has  gained, 
and  saved,  and  lost,  will  overpower  his  idyls,  and  lure 
young  life  to  the  city  with  a  stronger  attraction  than  all 
the  bright  eyes,  and  ringing  voices,  and  slender  purses 
of  his  highland-clan  can  counteract.  It  is  no  matter 
how  many  fail.  We  do  not  see  the  failures,  and  we 
walk  by  sight.  We  hear  nothing  of  the  journals  that 
die  in  their  infancy.  We  know  only  how  victoriously 
the  Tribune  has  lived.  We  do  not  see  the  country-born 
paupers  perishing  in  the  city  alms-house.  We  only  see 
Horace  Greeley  calling  no  man  master.  We  do  not  go 
up  from  the  country  farms  to  be  the  ninety-nine  failures, 
but  the  one  success. 

Of  the  fortunes  of  farming,  compared  with  those  of 
other  occupations,  I  am  not  competent  to  speak.  In 
deed,  the  only  way  in  which  I  see  how  a  person  can 
ever  become  rich  is  by  writing.  There,  you  do  what 
you  like,  what  you  would  rather  do  than  not,  what  you 
would  do  any  way,  and  are  paid  ten  times  what  it  is 
worth,  even  when  you  are  cheated.  You  please  your- 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  213 

self  on  high  wages.  But  to  accumulate  a  fortune  by 
making  a  half-cent  profit  on  a  pound  of  sugar,  or  a  yard 
of  cloth,  or  a  bushel  of  potatoes,  is  rolling  the  stone  of 
Sisyphus.  And  farming  seems  to  have  the  steadiest  run 
of  unsteadiness.  Wheat  is  up,  and  your  crop  is  down 
with  a  tornado.  Next  year  you  have  a  magnificent 
harvest,  but  so  have  your  neighbors,  and  the  price  is 
nowhere.  This  year  your  whole  farm  raises  three  ap 
ples.  Last  year  the  trees  were  loaded,  and  the  mar 
ket  would  not  pay  for  transportation.  The  cranberries 
flourished  like  a  green  bay-tree,  but  an  early  frost  nip 
ped  them  in  the  green.  The  peaches  and  grapes  prom 
ised  well, -and  a  hailstorm  destroj's  the  whole  year's 
growth.  Hay  is  fifty  dollars  a  ton,  but  the  drought  has 
starved  3*0111'  fields.  The  marshes  at  last  were  fruitful, 
but  a  sudden  north-caster  carried  your  hay-stacks  out 
to  sea. 

But  when  Mr.  Greeley  asks  "whether  our  loving 
Father  and  Friend  has  so  ordered  his  creation  that 
obedience  to  his  commands  makes  us  'early  wrinkled,' " 
and  so  forth,  I  say  at  once,  No.  But  he  has  so  ordered 
it  that,  if  we  do  not  know  how  to  obey  them  wisely,  we 
suffer  just  as  much  as  if  we  refused  to  obey  them  will 
ingly.  I  will  not  say  that  he  has  ordered  us  to  till  the 
ground,  but  he  has  so  arranged  matters  that  the  one 
thing  indispensable  is  to  till  the  ground.  Therefore  I 
firmly  believe  that  farming  must  one  day  be  profitable, 
both  for  the  life  that  now  is  and  for  that  which  is  to 
come.  It  is,  indeed,  becoming  so.  But  in  multitudes 
of  cases  it  is  not  so.  I  do  not  deny  that  ignorance  or 
thriftles'sness  may  be  the  cause.  I  only  say  that  farm- 


214  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

ing  is  a  work  which  requires  so  much  more  brains, 
science,  skill,  than  many  other  occupations,  that  igno 
rance  is  more  fatal.  It  requires  more  shrewdness  and 
sagacity  to  be  a  successful  farmer  than  it  does  to  be  a 
successful  shoe-maker  or  tailor.  The  reason  why  farm 
ers  work  harder  than  their  peers  in  trades  is  not  be 
cause  they  are  less  intelligent,  but  because  their  work 
is  more  exacting.  The  boy  who  is  not  bright  enough 
to  make  new  discoveries  or  inventions  in  forming  may 
be  bright  enough  to  tend  a  corner  grocery,  and  too 
bright  to  be  a  mere  routine  farmer.  But  if  the  corner 
grocery  will  tire  of  him,  and  he  is  too  proud  or  too  lazy 
to  come  back  to  the  farm,  let  him  not  go  begging  to 
Mr.  Greeley  and  say  I  sent  him.  I  scorn  him !  Any 
one  is  to  be  scorned  who  will  whine  rather  than  work. 
I  never  saw  farming  made  easy  or  particularly  lucra 
tive  either  to  man  or  woman ;  and  neither  stake  nor 
scaffold  shall  force  me  to  say  that  I  would  not  rather 
be  sitting  in  my  own  library,  writing  at  a  hundred  dol 
lars  a  word,  than  digging  potatoes  at  a  dollar  a  bushel, 
or  churning  butter  at  fifty  cents  a  pound.  But  if  pub 
lishers  reject  my  papers,  and  I  refuse  to  dig  or  to  churn, 
but  join  "the  never-ending  procession  of  the  multitude 
who  crawl"  on  the  knees  of  their  spirits,"  begging  Mr. 
Greeley  to  give  them  something  to  do — why,  then,  let 
me  be  given  over  to  uncovenanted  mercies! 

Another  man, "  mountain  born/'  says :  "I  have  always 
been  an  admirer  of  the  beautiful  in  nature  and  art,  yet 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  an  inner  life — a  wealth  of 
character  which  is  far  more  lovely  than  polished  speech, 
fine  clothes,  and  costly  mansions,  and  which  is  tlie  only 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  215 

standard  by  which  to  estimate  a  man's  true  worth.  Yet 
I  have  been  forced,  under  the  most  aggravating  circum* 
stances,  to  believe  that  city  people,  as  a  class,  entertain 
a  feeling  bordering  on  contempt  for  their  rural  cousins, 
whose  manners  are  not  so  polished,  whose  hands  are  not 
so  small  and  soft,  and  who  do  not  always  dress  in  the 
height  of  fashion.  I  have  been  frequently  scorned  and 
sneered  at  by  misses  who  to-day  are  my  social  inferiors, 
and  would  receive  my  advances  with  pleasure.  What 
makes  the  difference?  My  purpose  to  lead  an  upright 
and  useful  life  was  as  strong  then  as  now. 

"I  know  of  a  woman  who  has  been  from  her  child 
hood  one  of  the  most  heroic  persons  that  ever  lived. 
At  home  she  had  scarcely  any  advantages.  She  was 
nurse,  servant,  and  housekeeper  of  a  large  family.  She 
was  never  allowed  to  attend  a  quarter's  school,  and  was 
really  required  to  do  the  work  of  three  persons  until  her 
marriage.  She  has  been  a  slave  to  work,  trouble,  and 
anxiety  nearly  all  her  life,  and  yet,  although  she  is  one 
of  the  best  Christian  women  in  the  world,  her  rustic 
manners  and  language  would  excite  the  scorn  of  col 
lege-bred  men  and  city  ladies  so  that  her  own  children 
would  feel  it.  Such  is  the  shameful  power  of  city  asso 
ciations,  that  they  tempt  the  young  to  neglect  and  al 
most  to  scorn  those  to  whom  they  are  bound  by  the 
strongest  and  most  sacred  ties." 

I  think  my  friend  is  violently  wrong  and  deeply 
right.  Now,  then,  let  us  draw  the  line  exactly  on  the 
boundaries.  He  believes  there  is  a  wealth  of  character, 
an  inner  life  more  lovely  than  polished  speech,  and  by 
which  alone  a  man  is  to  be  judged.  Yes  and  no.  Yes, 


216  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

because  the  life  is  more  than  meat,  and  the  body  than 
raiment.  No,  because  we  must  judge  of  the  inner  life 
largely  by  speech,  and  dress,  and  manner  of  outward 
life.  For  instance,  I  know  nothing  whatever  of  Mr.  A. 
T.  Stewart's  inner  life.  He  may  be  a  noble  and  heroic 
soul,  or  an  ignoble  and  cowardly  one.  But  if  he  builds 
for  himself  a  stately  dwelling,  filling  it  with  the  treas 
ures  of  art,  I  infer  that  he  loves  beauty.  If  he  gives  to 
Chicago  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  her  suffering  children, 
I  infer  that  he  is  inspired  by  the  enthusiasm  of  human 
ity.  Do  you  say  it  may  have  been  mere  ostentation — 
that  the  widow  who  bestowed  her  ten-cent  scrip  may 
have  been  more  really  benevolent?  You  have  no  right 
to  say  it.  If  you  think  so,  keep  it  to  yourself.  It  is 
bad  enough  to  ascribe  bad  motives  to  bad  deeds,  but  he 
who  ascribes  bad  motives  to  good  deeds  is  a  churl  in 
deed.  We  have  no  more  right  to  asperse  the  motives 
of  a  millionaire  than  of  a  poor  widow.  When  we  find 
that  a  man  may  be  confidently  counted  on  to  do  good 
acts,  then  we  attribute  to  him,  perforce,  a  noble  inner 
life,  whether  he  is  poor  and  only  shares  his  crust  with 
a  poorer  brother,  or  whether  he  be  rich  and  gives  of  his 
abundance.  Too  much  can  not  be  said  to  emphasize 
the  superiority  of  soul  to  circumstance,  but  do  not  let  us 
be  too  hard  on  circumstance.  It  is  better  to  be  lovely 
in  heart  than  in  hand,  but  it  is  charming  to  be  both! 
The  sweetest  temper,  the  grandest  soul  in  the  world,  ap 
pears  to  better  advantage  through  grammatical  language 
and  correct  pronunciation  than  their  opposites.  No 
body  will  deny  that,  but  it  must  follow,  as  the  night 
the  day,  that  uncouth  ness  of  word  and  manner  is  a  dis- 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  217 

advantage;  and  the  sun  under  a  cloud  can  not  make 
so  deep  an  impression,  can  not  be  so  easily  seen  and 
recognized,  as  the  sun  in  a  clear  sky.  My  friend,  I  am 
sure,  agrees  to  this  heartily,  so  we  will  go  on  to  the 
next  head. 

Do  the  city  people,  indeed,  look  down  upon  their 
country  cousins?  I  can  tell  them  that  we,  the  country 
people,  return  their  look  with  compound  interest.  But 
it  seems  to  me  the  contempt  on  both  sides  is  very  inno 
cent.  Cultivated  and  well-bred  people  recognize  and 
respect  each  other  wherever  found ;  and  to  the  con 
tempt  or  admiration  of  the  ill-bred  we  are  alike  indiffer 
ent.  The  closer  association  of  cities  is  perhaps  favor 
able  to  the  growth  of  that  consideration  for  others' 
rights  and  feelings  which  we  call  good-breeding;  but 
the  vulgarity  of  the  city  is  infinitely  more  offensive  than 
that  of  the  country.  There  is  an  uppishness,  a  pertness, 
a  flimsiness  about  it  that  annoys  you.  The  untutored 
rustic  is  slow  and  clumsy,  perhaps,  but,  Heaven  be 
praised  !  he  is  not  dapper.  lie  may  be  uncomfortable, 
uncertain  as  to  the  proper  disposition  of  his  hands  and 
feet,  but  he  never  commits  the  damning  cockney  sin  of 
thinking  that  he  is  "astonishing  the  natives."  Awk 
wardness  and  ignorance. are  never  really  vulgar  except 
when  they  are  pretentious ;  and  those  persons,  whether 
in  city  or  country,  who  make  an  awkward  person  feel 
uncomfortable  are  themselves  as  deficient  in  manners  as 
is  he  whom  they  ridicule.  The  best-bred  people  are  the 
most  simple.  The  finest  manners  are  like  the  finest 
style,  invisible.  The  gentleman,  the  lady,  has  no  tangi 
ble  "  manners.''  It  is  only  that  a  sweet  soul,  a  kindly 

10 


21S  TWELVE  JULES  FROJI A  LEUOX. 

nature,  shines  out  to  bless  and  cheer,  to  amuse  and  help 
its  fellows. 

Perhaps, -after  all,  I  have  not  so  much  maintained 
that  the  city  does  not  contemn  the  country,  as  that  it  is 
of  no  consequence  whether  it  does  or  not.  That  is  not 
the  same  thing,  buf  it  is  pretty  near  it — so  near  that 
the  practical  results  are  the  same. 

Why  did  the  misses  laugh  at  the  man  to  whom  they 
would  now  bow  down  and  do  obeisance?  Partly  be 
cause  they  were  giddy,  giggling  girls,  who  knew  noth 
ing  better  to  do.  But  do  not  let  us  be  too  hard  on  the 
poor  things.  They  unlearn  their  laughing  so  soon. 
Their  heads  often  stay  light  while  their  hearts  get 
Very  heavy.  And  then,  dear  friend,  be  not  angry;  but 
possibly  you  did  say  or  do  some  little  thing  that  was 
ridiculous.  The  best  men  and  women  are  liable  to  the 
same  fate.  A  doctor  of  divinity  once  spoke  of  Goethe 
as:  "  Go-eath  "  un  A  manner  that  it  was  agonizing  not 
to.  laugh  at.  There  is  nothing  disgraceful  in  mis 
pronouncing  a  foreign  name.  "We  all  give  Paris  her 
tale  of  consonants;  but  there  was  a  rotundity,  an  nu- 
speakable,  unflinching  loj'alty  to  his  native  tongue  in 
the  way  my  reverend  gentleman  named  the  great  poet 
that  was  weM- nigh -irresistible.  The  girls  were  silly 
and  ill-bred  to  sneer.  They  are  older  and  wiser  now, 
and  you,  friend,  are 'less  sensitive,  less  self-conscious, 
more  sure5 -of.  your  ground,  more  a  man  of  the  world 
than  you  were.  You  have  both  improved  as  you  have 
matured-^-so  do  not  lay  it  np  against  them.  Country 
girls- are' just  as  hard  on  a  man  whose  person  and  man 
ners  do  "not  please  them  as  are  city  girls.  It  is  not  a 


CO  UXTR  Y  CHAR  A  VTE&.  219 

matter  of  city  and  country.  It  is  a  matter  of  individ 
uals.  Bufr  if  girls  only  would  or  could  be  high-bred! 
Good-breeding",  in  the  last  analysis,  is  but  perfect  sym 
pathy.  It  is  simply  having  imagination  enough  to 
know  how  another  person  feels,  and  sense  enough  to 
know  what  to  do  to  make  him  fee1!  hnppy,  and  good 
ness  enough  to  do  it — and  be  quick  about  it. 

What  shall  be  said  of  the  mother  whose  weary  years 
have  -but  ministered  to  the  necessities  of  others  and 
neglected  her  own  soul's  needs?  Alas,  the  tragedy  of 
such  a  life!  Alas,  that.it  is  too  often  a  real  trngedy! 
The  past  can  not  be  restored,  but  the  future  is  ours. 
The  man  who  turns  from  the  wife  or  mother  who  has 
thus  sacrificed  herself  at  his  altar  is  accursed;  but  the 
sacrifice  ought  never  to  be  made.  The  very  precious 
ointment  was  not  taken  to  anoint  the  feet  of  the  Lord, 
but  to  rub  up  the  pots  and  kettles.  Its  sacredness  was 
in  its  uselessness.  Its  use  was  sacrilege. 

Children  can  not  prevent  it.  The  fire  is  ashes  on  the 
altar  before  they  know  its  cost.  But  a  man  is  worse 
than  brutal  to  demand  or  to  accept  such  a  sacrifice  from 
his  wife.  A  woman  is  wholl\r,  cruelly  wrong  in  mak 
ing  it. 

Petroleum  V.  Nasby,  in  his  poem  of  "Hannah  Jane," 
gives  us  such  a  life-history.  Hannah  Jane  yields  youth, 
beauty,  culture,  all,  to  make  the  fortune  of  her  husband. 
She  remains  to  the  end  illiterate,  a  drudge,  slave,  pack- 
horse,  and  her  husband  rather  takes  credit  to  himself 
for  not  "  shoving  her  out  alone,"  and  never  gets  further 
than  "-if-  either," I'm  delinquent."  If  either!  Such  a 
man  is  dead  in  sin  not  to  see  that  he  is  worse  than  a 


220  TWEL  VE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

wife  murderer.  He  has  slain  a  soul.  What  he  prom 
ised  to  love,  honor,  and  cherish,  he  has  degraded,  de 
spoiled,  destroyed.  "  There's  another  world  beyond 
this,"  poetizes  the  musing  husband,  but  he  need  not  con 
cern  himself  with  that  at  present.  There  is  this  world. 
One  is  enough  at  a  time  for  such  culprits  as  he.  The 
man  who  builds  his  own  fame  and  fortune  on  the  souls 
of  his  wife  or  his  children  does  not  wait  for  the  next 
world  to  condemn  him  ;  he  is  condemned  already.  lie 
is  that  execrated  and  ever  execrable  monster  who  plun 
ders  the  one  he  has  sworn  to  protect,  that  he  may  en 
rich  himself. 

But  women  ought  to  see  for  themselves  that  it  is  a 
waste  of  the  ointment.  Sometimes,  perhaps,  it  can  not 
be  helped.  Fate  closes  around  the  child,  and  fixes  her 
in  one  groove  till  the  grave  releases  her.  Perhaps.  I 
can  hardly  think  that  in  this  country  any  fate  is  so 
strong  as  to  keep  the  soul  fast  if  the  will  be  not  first  a 
traitor.  But,  at  least,  let  women  not  feel  that  any  such 
sacrifice  is  their  duty.  They  injure  the  very  ones  whom 
they  wish  to  benefit.  The  noblest  son  in  the  world  can 
not  feel  that  delight  in  a  rude  and  ignorant  mother  that 
he  would  feel  in  an  intelligent  mother.  He  will  be 
unspeakably  grateful,  tender,  faithful;  he  will  love  her 
and  cherish  her  to  her  life's  end ;  but  he  will  miss — it  is 
impossible  he  should  not  miss — all  that  she  has  lost,  all 
that  she  has  failed  to  gain — that  which  makes  her  his 
equal  and  comrade.  Nasby's  Abel  was  a  villain,  but,  if 
he  had  been  an  angel,  he  could  not  have  enjoyed  Han 
nah  Jane  degraded,  as  he  would  have  enjoyed  her  ex 
alted.  His  villainy  was  not  in  his  recognizing  that  she 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  221 

was  his  wife,  nor  in  feeling  ashamed  of  her,  but  in  per 
mitting  her  to  become  his  inferior,  of  whom  it  was  pos 
sible  to  be  ashamed.  A  refined  taste  can  not  be  grat 
ified  with  rude  manners,  though  gratitude  and-  duty 
join  hands.  It  is  not  the  effect  of  city  association.  It 
is  the  natural  repugnance  of  delicacy  to  coarseness,  even 
though  it  be  only  coarseness  of  manifestation.  If  the 
whole  world  lived  in  scattered  houses,  all  the  same  the 
trained  ear  would  be  pained  by  rough  words,  the  train 
ed  eye  by  ungraceful  motion,  the  trained  intellect  by 
slow  perception.  Mother,  is  it  for  your  sons'  sake  you 
are  grinding  in  the  prison-house  of  drudgery?  For 
their  sake,  if  possible,  ascend  out  of  it.  For  their  sake, 
if  for  nothing  else,  cultivate  your  mind.  Do  not  bestow 
upon  them  the  pitiable  kindness  of  giving  to  their  as 
piring  young  manhood  a  worn-out  drudge  for  a  mother. 
This  awful  abnegation  may  be  the  stem  fiat  of  fate,  may 
seem  the  only  resource  of  love;  but  whether  it  be  fate 
or  choice,  at  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  sting- 
eth  like  an  adder. 

There  is  no  finer  life  than  springs  from  our  rocky 
soil,  is  nurtured  beneath  our  easily  frowning  skies. 

Eight  miles  across  country,  past  broad,  level  fields, 
lines  of  encircling  hills  paint  themselves  hazy  blue 
against  the  far  noonday  sky,  or  tender  transparent  pur 
ple  upon  the  glowing  sunset.  High  and  steep  they  rise 
beneath  your  climbing  feet,  but  from  this  western  win 
dow  they  are  but  gentle  swells  in  the  horizon — but  a 
dim,  dreary  background  of  the  fair,  still  picture — wood 
and  meadow,  pleasant  cottage,  busy  men  and  laboring 
oxen,  and  over  all  an  enchanted  silence.  For  their 


222  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

-beauty  and  their  guardianship,  for  their  ever-changing 
and  their  never-changing,  I  love  my  hills ;  but  one  among 
them  wears  a  charm  and  holds  a  secret  of  its  own.  ]f 
you  are  riding  by  on  brilliant  afternoons,  you  may  see 
the  ample  folds  of  a  scarlet  scarf  rising  and.  falling  and 
floating  from  the  attic  window,  and  you  will  think  we 
are  but  airing  the  woolens  from  the  camphor  chest; 
but  my  hill  knows  better.  Ever  he  is  aware  that  in  his 
-veiled  and  misty  depths  he  shelters  a  warm  human  in 
terest,  and  that  my  floating  signal,  my  Scarlet  Letter, 
will  be  read  by  welcoming  eyes,  and  answered  in  such 
abounding  measure  as  makes  Ten  Times  One  seem 
Twenty.  ,:. 

To-day  I  look  upon  my  hill  with  peculiar  fondness. 
Surely  his  blue  is  luminous,  he  wears  his  purple  roy al 
ly,  and  this  matchless  sunshine  has  Woven  him  a  crown 
of  glory,  for  his  message  to-day  is  not  for  me  alone,  but 
for  all  the  world.  Forth  from  his  silent  shadows  where 
it  grew,  a  little  book  has  stolen  into  tlie  world,  as  silver- 
leaved  as  the  abele-tree  from  which  it  drew  its  name, 
but  sound  and  sturdy  as  my  hill  that  nurtured  it  to  life. 

Touching  lightly  upon  many  things,  it  touches  noth 
ing  which  it  does  hot  adorn.  Perhaps  not  half  a  dozen 
paragraphs  concern  themselves  with  scenery,  but,  by  a 
few  bold  yet  dainty  strokes,  fall  and  spring  and  winter 
rise  before  you,  vivid,  real,  and  recurring.  Next  to  noth 
ing  is  said  of  the  "woman  cause,"  but,  by  "the  law  of 
indirect  effort,"  all  women  are  elevated  and  ennobled 
through  its  pages.  Its  women,  positive  but  not  opin- 
.ionated,  gracious  without  manner,  influenced  but  not 
driven  by  ideas,  hospitable  to  thought  but  op£.n  also  to 


COUNTRY   CHARACTER. 

:  "sentiment,  informed  but  not  "domineering,  equally  large- 
.  hearted  and  large-minded — bow  quietly,  harmoniously, 
-successfully,  if  indirectly,  they  work  upon  the  men  who 
seek  their  small  home  circle !  Opposing  convictions  are 
not  wanting,  but  they  do  not  monopolize  the  field,  and 
even  opposing  prejudices  war  you  gently,  though-  war 
they  must,  being  prejudices.  In  that  narrow  but  inde 
pendent  and  intelligent  home,  it  is  no  question  of  ma- 
-tron  or  maiden  ;  but  women  stand  as  they  should  stand, 
sovereign  by  virtue  of  their  unrepressed  womanhood, 
cultivated,  dignified,  free — necessarily,  therefore,  magnet 
ic  and  influential.  In  language  the  book  is  singularly 
.choice  and  elegant.  It  shows  the  result  of  culture  and 
not— more  perhaps  than  needs  must  in  our  country — 
-the  process  of  culture.  '.,  The  'sentences  are  agreeable, 
even  striking,  for  their  str.uclure,  as  .well  as  impressive 
for  substance.  The  characterization  is  delicate  but  defi 
nite,  the  conversation  flexible  and  natural,  the  thought 
subtle,  precise,  and  not  unfrequently  deep,  the  temper, 
ah,  me!  always  perfect.  There  is  humor,  too,  that 
shines,  and  also  smiles,  a  satire  as  sharp  as  if  it  were  not 
playful,  a  criticism  none  the  less  keen  for  being  good- 
natured,  and  sometimes  an  honest,  direct,  and  wholesome 
indignation.  Here,  in  dignified  and  eloquent  words,  a 
daughter  of  the  country  presents,  the  cause  of  country 
against  city.  Never,  surely,  was  the  bubble  of  Brah- 
manism  more  deftly  blown  into  nothingness;  never,  sure 
ly,  were  the  "clumsy  and  the  co.untrified  "  more  nobly 
nor  so  much  defended  as  dismissed  from  the  attitude  of 
defense.  Never  was  refined  snobbery  .cloven  by  a  finer, 
and  keener  sword.  Without  flattering  ignorance,  never 


224  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

pandering  to  coarseness,  the  censor  extracts  from  scoffs 
their  sting,  and  turns  it  politely,  but  with  an  all-pene 
trating  point,  upon  the  scoffers.  That  which  alone  con 
stitutes  the  nobility  of  democracy  is  fairly,  proudly,  and 
victoriously  set  against  that  which  alone  makes  aristoc 
racy  ignoble. 

I  like  to  think  that  a  woman— little  known — has  been 
listening  in  her  "saintly  solitude"  to  the  world's  voices 
sounding  near  and  far,  loud  or  low ;  that  in  her  soul,  si 
lently,  without  aim,  thoughts  have  been  revolving,  con 
clusions  maturing,  convictions  deepening,  impulse  quick 
ening,  till  all  this  mental  stir  found  overflow  and  chan 
nel  to  the  world.  A  book  may  be  an  accident.  Cir 
cumstances,  change,  a  thousand  slight  modifications  of 
life  may  prevent  the  still,  small  voice  from  speaking  be- 
3?ond  the  sphere  of  home  listeners;  but  it  is  pleasant  to 
feel  that  over  all  the  country,  unknown  to  fame  or  even 
to  society,  may  be  such,  listeners,  such  observers,  such 
possible  talkers — Girls  of  the  Period,  who  will  keep  the 
Period  sweet  and  bear  it  well  aloft ;  women  who  discern 
and  discriminate,  and  calmly,  despite  all  clamor  and 
heat,  deal  just  judgment,  and  show  ns  how  divine  a 
thing  a  woman  may  be  made. 

At  the  beginning  of  our  last  and  greatest  revolution 
ary  war,  among  the  thousands  of  Northern  families  that 
rose  up,  filled  and  fired  with  the  inspiration  of  loyalty, 
was  one  consisting  of  father,  mother,  and  three  promis 
ing  sons.  The  father  was  smitten  with  an  incurable 
disease.  No  strength  of  his  ebbing  life  could  be  flung 
into  the  breach  to  stay  that  destruction  which  threatened 
the  nation :  but  not  his  mortal  weakness  nor  his  death- 


COUXTRY  CHARACTER.  225 

longing  for  clear  faces  should  hold  back  his  sous.  The 
youngest  was  too  young;  but  the  oldest  was  of  fit  age, 
a  strong,  beautiful  young  man,  in  the  first  flush  of  con 
scious  power,  full  of  enthusiasm,  full  of  hope,  high-prin- 
eipled,  high-hearted,  resolute.  Swift  and  terrible  was 
his  soldier's  march  to  the  grave.  He  enlisted  in,  June, 
1861,  rushed  into  the  foremost  of  the  fight,  was  taken 
prisoner  by  the  Rebels,  and — for  our  country's  and  our 
countrymen's  sake,  for  our  own  honor's  sake,  would  we 
could  forget  that  such  things  ever  happened;  but  truth 
is  greater  than  all,  and  we  must  remember  that  lie  was 
starved  to  death  in  a  Rebel  prison.  To  his  family — and 
this  was  only  one  among  thousands  of  such  families, 
this  fearful  event  seemed  but  to  call  for  another  soldier. 
They  never  dreamed  of  being  daunted,  but  rose  up  to 
a  still  greater  sacrifice.  The  dead  son's  place  must  be 
made  good.  The  second  boy  must  go.  That  was  the 
thing  to  be  done,  not  to  be  talked  about.  The  boy  was 
ready.  The  father  and  mother  were  not  unready.  He 
enlisted,  did  valiant  service  till  his  health  entirely  failed, 
was  placed  on  the  sick-list  till  it  became  evident  that 
he  never  would  be  able  to  do  soldier's  duty  again,  when 
he  was  finally  and  honorably  discharged.  His  health 
and  his  time  he  had  gladly  given  to  his  country,  and 
regretted  that  he  had  no  more  to  give;  nor  did  he  ever 
seek  reward  or  recognition. 

But  now  the  third  and  last,  the  young  Benjamin,  had 
grown  to  be  eighteen,  stalwart,  and  brave,  and  loyal,  like 
his  brothers,  and  the  family  must  be  represented  in  the 
Army  of  the  Republic.  They  had  sore  need  of  him  at 
home.  The  slowly  dying  husband  and  father,  the  dis- 

10* 


226  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

abled  sonr  the;  bereaved  mother  cleaved  longingly  and 
lovingly,  to  this  last  strong  staff  of  their  weakness,  but 
the  country's  .need  was  sore,  and  they  gave  him  up,  I 
can  not  say  gladly,  but  calmly,  without  complaint  or 
ado;  like  .Americans.  "While  in  camp  he  fell  ill  with 
typhoid  fever.  Those  of  us  who  have  ever  been  in  the 
camp  hospitals  know,  how  dreadful  was  the  situation 
to  a  .home-and-mother'loving  boy,  even  with  all  the  al 
leviations  which  science  and  love  could  bring. 

In  the  story-books,  proud  ladies  find  their  discarded 
lovers  lying  wounded  and  sick,  and  the  situation  be 
comes  immediately  dramatic  and  sentimental;  but,  when 
I  think  of  these  hospitals,  I  think  always  of  long,  dreary 
rooms  full  of  light,  and  flies,,  and  smell,  and  heavy-eyed^ 
suffering  men,  and  the  dread  and  hopelessness  of  it 
brood  over  me  after  all  these  years  with  scarcely  a  lift 
ing  of  the  shadow.  To  such  a  place  came  the  young 
Benjamin;  but.tliQre  a  lady  found  him,  a  friend  of  his 
mother's,  and  took  him  from  the  hospital  to  her  own 
house,  sent  for  liis  mother,  and  employed  her  own  phy 
sician  to  attend,  him.  This  was  not  exactly  field  serv 
ice,  but  surely  no  general  ever  accomplished  a  desi 
rable  end  by.  wiser  and  more  efficient  means  than  this 
loyal  lady..  Hi's  mother  remained  with  him  till  he  was 
convalescent,  paid  all  his  bills,  and  as  soon  as  he  was 
able  carried  him  home.  There  the  most  skillful  phy 
sician  of  the  vicinity  was  engaged  ;.  and  the  moment  that 
gentleman  .pronounced  him  well  enough  to  "r^ake  the 
journey  with  safety,  his  uncle,  a  member  of  the  House 
of  Representatives,  and. subsequently  an  officer  in  the 
arm}'-,  carried  him  to  the  Central  Hospital  at  the  State 


COUNTRY  CHARACTER.  227 

Capitol.  There  they  learned,  to  their,  dismay,  that  nei 
ther  of  his.  physicians  had  reported  him,  and  consequently 
he  was  recorded  a  deserter! ' .  .  ;..' 

To  the  still  feeble  young  man  this  was-,  a  terrible 
blow.  To  the  high,  stainless  soul,  the  very  breath,  the 
shadow,  the  thought  of  shame  was  intolerable.  His  agr 
ony  was  acute  and  intense,  but  he  and  his  uncle  were 
assured  in  the  strongest  terms  that  his  record  should  bfi 
made  right,  and  the  latter  unhappily  departed  .without 
seeing  in  person  that  the  .vital  thing  was  done. 

Unassured,  but  undaunted,  with  only  one  purpose 
and  one  aspiration,  to  serve  and  save  his  country,  the 
young  man  took  his  place  in:  the  ranks,  fought' a  good 
fight,  won  the  name  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  of  n 
good  soldier,  and  laid  down  his  grand  young  life  at  lasfy 
in  the  high  tide  of  battle  on  the  decisive  field  of  Gettys 
burg. 

And  never  in  all  these  3Tears  has  the  cloud  been  lifted 
from  that  noble  family.  Never  did  the  now  widowed 
mother,  never  did  the  heroic  son  receive  aught  of  pen 
sion  or  pay,  for  never — oh,  crowning  grief!  was  the 
false  record  corrected,  and  he,  patriot,  hero,  martyr,  was 
written  down  a  deserter  of  the  cause  to  which  he  had 
given  all ! 

At  last  some  friendly  person  took  up  the  matter  in 
behalf  of  the  stricken  mother,  and  after  careful  inves 
tigation  learned  that  the  trouble  probably  had  arisen 
from  a  mistake  in  reading  for  the  name  of  his  native 
village  another  village  four  times  as  far  off  from  head 
quarters,  and  at  a  distance  to  which  it  was  said  he  had 
no  right  to  go,  and  to  which  he  never  did  go.  This 


228  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

gentleman  wrote  to  an  officer  of  the  Government  in 
Washington,  stating  the  facts,  and  saying,  with  a  simple 
trust  in  the  right  which  Heaven  grant  our  Government 
may  never  shame:  "Please  get  the  record  righted,  and 
communicate  the  fact  to  me,  and  I  will  at  once  inform 

Mrs. :,  who  will  be  much  more  gratified  that  her 

son's  name  stands  right  than  she  will  to  receive  the 
money  due  him." 

By  a  little  gentle  pressure  in  the  right  spot,  the 
mighty  wheel  ceased  rolling,  the  great  Government 
paused,  repaired  the  wrong  wrought  so  long  ago,  cor 
rected  the  lying  record,  lifted  the  dead  soldier's  name 
into  the  light  that  should  encircle  it,  and  gave  to  the 
mourning  mother  the  desire  of  her  heart,  the  sole  solace 
that  remains  to  her  for  her  beloved  and  honored  dead. 


AUTUMN  VOICES.  229 


XIII. 

A  UTUMN  VOICES. 

THE  melancholy  days  are  come,  the  saddest  of  the 
year,  when  the  Old  Coal  Man  starts  on  his  periodical 
round  of  travel  through  the  newspapers.  Patient  and 
provident  housekeepers,  whose  lives  are  already  a  bur 
den  to  them  by  reason  of  the  wastefulness  of  servants, 
are  now,  through  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes,  ap 
proaching  the  place  where  they  will  be  told  for  the  sev 
enty-times-seventieth  time  that  America  is  the  land  of 
extravagance ;  that  our  forests  are  disappearing  before 
the  woodman's  axe,  and  our  coal-mines  hollowing  into 
emptiness  beneath  the  miner's  spade;  that  European 
families  buy  wood  by  the  pound,  and  old  coal  burns 
amaist  as  weel's  the  new;  and  if  }'ou,  sweet  Cinderella, 
will  but  sift  and  pick  and  rinse,  smother  yourself  in' 
ashes,  and  burrow  in  your  cellar  with  sufficient  assidui 
ty,  you  will  save  your  country  from  a  fire  famine,  and 
doubtless  at  last  reach  a  point  where  fresh  coal  will  be 
no  more  requisite,  but  you  may  burn  on  and  on  from  a 
self-supplying  bin,  forever  spent,  renewed  forever. 

Dear  and  long-suffering  Cinderella,  be  not  deceived. 
Shake  the  ashes  from  your  hair,  scrub  off  the  crock 
from  your  poor  hands,  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  wretched 
man,  and  while  the  sun  is  not  yet  cold  in  the  heavens, 
and  these  birds  of  ill  omen  have  only  piped  the  first 


'230  TWELVE  MILES  -FJtOJI  A  LEXOX. 

feeble  note  of  tlieir  harsh  discord,  listen  to  one  who 
knows  more  about  it  than  a  regiment  of  newspaper  the 
orists. 

Marry  come  up,  now,  Old  Coal  Man,  and  be  yourself 
sifted!  Let  us  see  what. is  grain  and  what  is  chaff  in 
your  profuse  advice.  You  give  minute,  specific,  and 
long-drawn-out  'directions  for  the  management  of  range 
and  stove  and  furnace,  by  following  which  the  heat 
shall  be  regulated,,  waste  prevented,  and  expenses  re 
duced.  In  the  first  place,  Old  .Coal  Man,  permit  me  to 
say,  with  what  "sweetness  and  light"  may  be,  but  at 
any  rate  with  explicitness,  that  I,  for  one,  do  not  half 
believe  you.  I.speak.from  the  point  of  sight  of  a  prac 
tical  experimenter  who  has  spent  a  large  part  of  his  life 
in  coal  cellars,  who  has  tried  most  of  the  furnaces  in 
this  country,  and  has  reflected  deeply  on  the  rest. 
"Leave  this  little  door  open, "-says "Father  M'Gee,  "as 
soon  as  your  fire  is  well  started,  and  the  coal  will  last 
•all  day."  "Put  your  coal  into  this 'cylinder,"  says  the 
base-burner,  "and  it  feeds  itself  down  as  it  is  wanted, 
*and  only  as",  it  is  wanted,  and  you  need  hardly  look  at 
}'our  fire  from  morning  to  morning."  "Spread  your 
-old  coal  on  the  top  of  your  new  coal,"  snys> Penny 
'Wise,  "and  4he  moderated  heat;will  be  all-sufficient." 
"Slide -in  this  little  damper,". says  Pound  Foolish,  "rtnd 
the  heat  which  the  world  has  hitherto  dissipated  to  the 
skies  will  be  diffused  through  your  house."'  And  with 
servile  fidelity^  have  I  shut  all  the  doors,  and  opened  all 
-the  registers,  and  slid  all  the  slides  of  the  furnaces  and 
•the  funnels  thereunto  appertaining,  and  the  conclusion 
of  the  whole  matter  is  thatyou  can  not  have  fire  with- 


AUJUXN  VOICES.  .; 

put  fuel.  The  price  of  comfort  is  an  eternal  supply  of 
coal.  If  your  object  is  simply  to  keep  a  fire  alive,  you 
can  do  so  at  a  very  small  outlay ;  but  if  it  is  ,to  keep 
yourself  alive  through  our  rigorous  Northern  winters,  I 
know  no  way  of  doing  it  but  to  burn  out  your  bins. 

Granting,  however,  that  you  have  found  a, royal  road 
to  warmth,  does  it  certainly  follow  that  it  would  be 
worth  our  while  to  travel  it?  Even  supposing  your 
directions,  if  complied  with,  would  reduce  the  consump 
tion  of  coal,  is  it  at  all  certain  that  they  would,  not  re 
quire  the  consumption  of  something  more;  valuable  than 
coal  ?  for  in  this  world,  at  least  in  this  partrof  it,,  one 
can  live  rationally  only  by  a  comparison  of  values. 
Our  servants  mostly  know  how  to  make  coal, fires. 
Very  likely  they  do  it- after  a  clumsy,  and  cosily-  fasli.- 
ion,  and  keep  up  their  fires  by  an  unwise  and  unneces 
sary  method.  The  good  housekeeper  instructs,  them  in 
the  more  excellent  way,  but,  unless  she  constantly  min 
isters  at  the  altar  herself,  the  probability  is  that  the 
flame  will  immediately  return  to  its  costliest  sacrifice 
And  lap  up  far  more  than  its  legitimate  food»  .The  good 
housekeeper  knows  this — has  a  constant,  aching, sense 
of  it;  but  her  husband,  her  children,  her  house,  her 
books,  her  friends,  make  incessant  demands  upon  her 
time,  and,  after  a  few  stremious  efforts  on  her  part, 
Providence  mercifully  vouchsafes  to  her  a  life-preserv 
ing  apathy,  broken;  only  by  an  occasional  pang  .when 
she  catches  a;  glimpse  of  the  rapidly  lowering  coal  bin 
and  the  rapidly,  heightening  coal  bills.  And  just  at 
this  moment-  of  all  moments,  when  we  might  .hayq 
peace,  you,  miserable,  must  needs  come  "clattering  in, 


232  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

with  your  deafening  din  of  old  coal  and  economy,  and 
relegate  every  thing  to  uneasiness,  not  to  say  remorse. 
Away  with  you !  What  bee  is  this  in  your  bonnet, 
making  all  the  world  uncomfortable?  Do  you  mean, 
to  tell  Cinderella  that  it  would  be  more  economical  for 
her  to  tend  her  fires  and  save  her  coal  than  to  tend  her 
children  and  save  her  soul?  What  shall  it  profit  a 
woman  if  she  gain  all  the  mines  of  Lehigh,  and  lose 
•her  own  tranquillity  of  temper?  Whether  is  it(better 
to  pay  a  few  additional  dollars  each  year,  or  to  pay  out 
your  time  and  patience  each  day  in  pawing  over  a  heap 
of  ashes?  For  this  is  what  it  amounts  to.  It  is  not, 
in  most  cases,  a  question  between  careless  and  careful 
supervision,  between  wanton  recklessness  and  wise  pru 
dence,  between  a  conscientious  and  an  unprincipled 
woman.  It  is  whether  a  scrupulous  Christian,  an  al 
ready  overburdened  wife  and  mother,  shall  neglect  still 
more  than  she  now  is  forced  to  do  the  weightier  matters 
of  the  law,  and  give  her  attention  to  paying,  with  accura 
cy  and  promptness,  the  tithes  of  mint,  anise,  and  cummin. 
Beyond  the  obligation  which  we  are  all  under  to  re 
quire,  so  far  as  practicable,  thorough  work  from  our 
workmen,  and  to  give  faithful  service  to  our  employers, 
it  is  a  great  deal  wiser  and  more  economical  to  let  the 
fire  consume  &.  little  extra  coal  than  it  is  to  throw  our 
own  peace  of  mind  into  it  for  the  sake  of  keeping  it 
down.  Waste  is  hateful  to  God  and  man  ;  but  if  waste 
there  must  be,  let  it  be  of  the  cheaper  and  not  the  cost 
lier  material.  The  worst  waste  is  the  waste  of  the  bet 
ter  in  pursuit  .of  the  meaner.  Life  is  more  than  anthra 
cite,  and  the  body  than  seasoned  oak. 


AUTUMN  VOICES.  233 

To  hold  up  foreign  ways  against  ours  is  utterly  futile. 
Europe  has  little  coal  and  much  people.  We  have 
wide-stretching  coal-fields  and  a  sparse  population.  A 
woman  with  a  dozen  servants  to  do  the  dozen  different 
kinds  of  work  can  perhaps  afford  to  burn  a  cinder  a 
dozen  times  over  before  calling  it  ashes.  But  our  wom 
en,  having  much  of  the  hand -work  and  most  of  the 
brain-work  to  do  themselves,  must  discriminate  between 
the  duties  that  can  be  delegated  and  those  that  can  not. 
Surely,  with  our  immense  coal-mines  stored  up  for  gen 
erations,  and  our  society  still  crude,  and  our  children 
who  can  not  wait,  the  choice  of  duties  is  not  difficult. 
Is  she  a  \vise  and  economical  woman  who,  when  her 
children  ask  for  stories,  for  pleasant  talk,  for  a  sweet- 
faced,  gentle- voiced  mother,  holds  out  to  them,  in  grimy 
hands,  a  bit  of  bitumen  ? 

And  when  you  present  European  economies  for  our 
emulation,  what  do  you  mean?  That  we  shall  be  ben 
efited  by  compassing  their  results?  Look  at  some  of 
these  economical  Continental  firesides  close  at  hand: 

"Keeping  no  fire  within  doors,"  says  Hawthorne, 
"  except  possibly  a  spark  or  two  in  the  kitchen  ;  they 
[the  Romans]  crept  out  of  their  cheerless  houses  into 
the  narrow,  sunless,  sepulchral  streets,  bringing  the  fire 
sides  along  with  them  in  the  shape  of  little  earthen 
pots,  vases,  or  pipkins,  full  of  lighted  charcoal  or  warm 
ashes,  over  which  they  hold  their  tingling  finger-ends. 

Through  the  open  door-ways — no  need  to  shut 

them  when  the  weather  within  was  bleaker  than  with 
out —  a  glimpse  into  the  interior  of  their  dwellings 
showed  the  uncarpetcd  brick  floors,  as  dismal  as  the 


234  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

pavement  of  a  'tomb. ....  In  New  England,  or  in  Rus 
sia,  or  scarcely  in  a  hut  of  the  Esquimaux,  there  is  no 
such,  discomfort  to  be  borne  as  by  Romans  in  wintry 

weather Wherever  we  pass  our  summers,  may  all 

our  inclement  months,  from  November  to  April,  hence 
forth  be  spent  in  some  country  that  recognizes  winter 
as  an  integral  portion  of  its  year !" 
;  Is  this  a  pleasing  picture  to  contemplate?  Would 
the  Old  Coal  Man  like'  to  exchange  our  extravagant 
hearth-stones  and  furnaces  for  the  snug,  saving  fire-pot 
jon  a  Roman  sidewalk?  .  Or  shall  the  fire  continue  to 
joar,  somewhat  superfluously  perhaps,  yet  with  a  heart- 
•some  and  hospitable  glow  withal  ?  ," 

Your  dissolving  views  of  our  forests  and  our  mines 
are  not  in  the  least  appalling.  God  will  not  leave  his 
world  out  in  the  cold  until  its  appointed  time  is  come, 
and-.that  day  will  not  be  postponed  though  we  spend 
•our  lives  in  piling  wood.  Coal  came  into  use  long  be 
fore  wood  gave  out ;  and  by  the  time  we  get  to  the  end 
of  our  coal-mines,  ocean,  air,  and  sunshine  will  be  ready 
,to  give  up  the  heat  which  is  in  them  for  our  cheer. 
•Oil-wells  spouted  long  before  whales  had  ceased  to 
<spout.  We  had  been  bemoaning  our  droughts,  lo! 
these  many  years,  and  wise  men  of  the  East  said  it  was 
.because  we  had  so  ruthlessly  felled  our  forests,  and,  un- 
jless  we  planted  trees  again,  seed-time  and  harvest  would 
fail  for  want  of  rain.  Then  came  a  most  beautiful  and 
bountiful  summer,  filled  our  tanks  and  cisterns,  fed  our 
fountains,  flooded  our  meadows,  drowned  our  cranber 
ries,  washed  out  our-  salt  hay,  and  soaked  our  rowen 
-.into  mulch,  and  how  can  our  savants  keep  their  head;! 


:v  VOICES..  235 

jvbove  water?  For  some  reason,  we  were  told,  the  cli 
mate  of  the  earth  was  changing — glacial  cold  was  com 
ing  upon  us,  and  the  earth  was  gradually  freezing  down 
from,  the  north  pole.  Now  if  any  there  be  who  have 
not  felt  this  theory  thoroughly  thawed  out  of  them  by 
the  fervent  heat  of  our  all  too  swiftly  flown  midsummer 
months,  let  him  hear  what  Daniel  Draper  saith  from 
his  eyrie  in  the  Central  Park  of  the  Universe.  After  a 
careful  comparison  of  the  most  reliable  records  .for  the 
past  seventy -six  yearsr  he  comes  to  the  conclusion  that, 
"both  as  regards  rain-fall  and  winter  climate,  there  has 
been,  no  change  in  the  lapse  of  many  years." 

Surcease,  Old  Coal  Man,  your  evil  speaking  and  cause 
less  whining.  Our  mines  of  coal  shall  not  .waste  nor 
our  wells  of  oil  fail  till  the  day  that  the  Lord  revealeth 
something  else  in  the  earth  to  burn.  Meanwhile,  come 
clown,  into  our  ash-heap,  if  you  will,  and  claw  among  the 
clinkers  to  your  heart's  content.  There  are  plenty  of 
thernrand  slate  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  and  doubtless 
soot  as  the  sands  of  the  sea ;  or  descend  betimes  to  your 
own  furnace  shrine,  and  win  your  own  household  down 
by  your  merry  morning  song: 

"Come  into  the 'cellar,  Maud, 

For  the  black  bat,  night,  has  flown  ; 
Come  into  the  cellar,  Maud — 

It's  poky  down  here  alone. 
And  the  fumes  of  the  coal  gas  are  wafted  abroad, 

And  the 'fire  is  almost  gone." 

But  for  Maud  herself,  and  for  all  busy  and  virtuous 
women,  Heaven  grant  them  grace  never  to  believe  that 
any  necromancy  or  machinations  whatever  can  make  in 


236  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

our  ashes  glow  their  'wonted  fires,  and  firmness  to  stay 
above-ground  and  keep  the  world  sane  and  sweet ! 

Sometimes  it  seems  as  disastrous  to  be  a  good  house 
keeper  as  a  poor  one.  It  is  just  as  bad  to  be  a  better 
housekeeper  than  there  is  any  call  for,  as  it  is  to  be  a 
poorer  housekeeper  than  there  is  any  justification  for. 
There  are  plenty  to  exact  perfection  in  all  household 
machinery.  If  I  could  induce  women  to  be  willing  to 
be  poor  housekeepers  when,  through  their  poverty,  life 
could  be  made  rich,  I  should  feel  that  I  had  not  lived 
in  vain. 

There  are,  no  doubt,  reckless,  brainless,  wasteful,  un 
principled  women  who  bring  ruin  into  a  man',s  heart 
and  home.  Such  women  need  no  exhortation  to  a  wise 
negligence,  nor,  indeed,  can  they  profit  by  exhortation 
to  wise  thrift.  It  is  of  no  use  to  admonish  them  one 
way  or  the  other.  They  may  extract,  even  from  moral 
words,  encouragement  for  their  folly ;  but  they  would 
be  foolish  just  the  same,  whether  they  had  encourage 
ment  or  not.  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  with  them 
but  to  make  the  most  you  can  of  this  life,  notwithstand 
ing  the  wounds  they  deal,  and  to  look  forward  with 
hope  to  a  fresh  start  in  another  and  a  better  world. 
But  these  women  are  a  small  minorit}-.  Female  Amer 
ica  is,  in  the  main,  conscientious,  disposed  to  be  frugal, 
and  to  do  its  full  part  in  building  up  the  family  for 
tunes.  To  my  observation,  women  err  through  being 
too  careful  and  troubled  about  many  things,  rather  than 
in  not  being  careful  and  "particular"  enough.  They 
look  too  well  to  the  ways  of  their  household,  and  do 
not  eat  so  much  of  the  bread  of  idleness  as  would  be 


AUTUMN  VOICES.  237 

good  for  them.  They  need  to  be  encouraged  to  "let 
things  go,"  rather  than  be  exhorted  to  "look  after 
things."  When  some  troubled  teacher  tells  us  that  a 
French  family  will  live  luxuriously  and  keep  boarders 
off  what  an  American  family  throws  away,  patient 
Griselda  feels  admonished  to  renewed  and  still  more 
scrutinizing  pursuit  of  every  morsel  of  meat  from  the 
moment  when  it  leaves  the  butcher's  stall  till  it  is  set 
on  her  overflowing  table ;  nor  even  thence  shall  the  dis 
jecta  membra  be  permitted  to  depart  in  peace,  but  must 
be  followed  to  their  final  classification  and  deposit  in 
the  frying-pan  or  soap  jar,  lest  some  atom  be  premature 
ly  deflected  to  pig-pen  or  poultry-yard,  and  so  the  har 
mony  of  the  universe  disturbed. 

But  the  overwhelming  probability  is  that  Griselda 
already  gives  quite  its  due  share  of  time  and  thought  to 
the  salvage  of  scraps.  She  may  or  may  not  make  as 
much  out  of  a  shin-bone  as  a  Frenchwoman  would ;  but 
in  our  happy  country  shin-bones  are  many  and  sirloin 
steaks  not  few,  and  it  is  a  question  whether  energy  and 
ingenuity  may  not  be  better  expended  than  in  wrest 
ing  the  last  fibre  of  nutriment  from  a  dismantled  bone. 
Must  is  a  word  from  which  there  is  no  appeal ;  but 
where  there  is  freedom  of  choice,  let  us  remember  the 
great  army  of  dogs  and  cats  which  is  glad  to  feed  upon 
the  crumbs  that  fall  from  our  tables ;  and  if  the  ma 
nipulation  of  fragments  into  viands  seems  likely  to  cost 
more  than  it  would  come  to,  let  us  not  be  deterred 
from  comforting  our  dumb  brethren  therewith  by  any 
fears  of  foreign  comparisons. 

Economy  is  a  divine  law.     No  amount  of  wealth  jus- 


238.1  TWELVE  MILKS  FROM  A  LEMON. 

tifies  waste,  A  man  can  never  be  so  rich  as  to  afford 
wanton  expenditure.  The  " man  of  means"  is  under 
just  as  strong  bonds  to  spend  his  money  wisely  as  the 
man  of  "limited  income."  All  the  teaching  that  a 
woman  can  give  her  servants  she  ought  to  give  them, 
for  their  sake  and  her  own.  They  touch  her  sphere, 
and  she  is  responsible  for  all  the  good  she  can  do  them. 
But  it  is  not  her  duty  to  sacrifice  to  their  teaching  u 
higher  good.  She  has  duties  more  strenuous  than  in 
culcating  economy,  far  more  strenuous,  in  most  cases, 
than  the  saving  of  money.  To  economize  at  the  cost 
of  making  her  family  uncomfortable,  or  of  destroying 
the  elasticity  of  her  mind  and  the  buoyancy  of  her  spir 
its  with  the  burden  of  details,  is  not  thrifty. 

Nature  is  sometimes  prodigiously  wasteful,  to  all  ap 
pearance,  yet  she  is  strictly  economical,  since  not  only 
is  no  force  and  no.  substance  really  lost,  but  the  seem 
ingly  extravagant  expenditure  is  really  the  smallest 
that  would  certainly  secure  the  desired  end.  Myriads 
of  blossoms  bear  no  fruit,  but  they  gladden  the  e}-e,  and, 
on  the  whole,  making  all  provision  for  failures,  there 
are,  doubtless,  no  more  than  are  necessary  to  keep  up 
the  suppty.  Nature  surely  believes  that  a  large  margin 
is  the  truest  economy. 

Flies  are  not  a  desirable  adjunct  to  housekeeping, 
and  the  ideal  housekeeper  will  set  her  face  like  a  fliiit 
against  them,  regardless  of  my  innocent  remarks.  Nor 
have  I  the  smallest  sympathy  with  that  misplaced  mas 
culine  tender-heartedness  which  forbids  the  use  of  the 
sticky  fty-traps  because  they  make  the  fly. uncomforta 
ble,  :or  the  poison-pnpcr  because  it  disagrees  "with  the 


VOICES,  239" 

• 

fly's  constitution.  When  a  fly  comes  into  human  habi 
tation,  he  takes  his  life  in  his  hands,  and  if  fate  swift 
ly  takes  it  out  again,  that  is  his  own  affair.  But  why 
should  we  make  more  ado  to  put  the  fly  out  than  he 
makes  by  coming  in?  Why  should  the  sweep  of  his 
wings  in  parlor  or  dining-room  be  the  signal  for  a  sud 
den  pause  in  talk,  a  rush  for  towels,  a  vigorous  on 
slaught,  and  a  vindictive  slaughter?  Extreme  fastid 
iousness  is  a  greater  nuisance  than  flies.  There  are 
women  who  ought  to  be  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace. 
Domestic  happiness,  social  order,  and  the.  whole  fabric' 
of  civilized  life  ought  not  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  fly;; 
and  since,  you  can  not  always  catch  the  fly,  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  catch  the  women.  When  I  see 
people  devoting  their  minds  to,  and  disturbing  the  uni 
verse  for,  the  expulsion  of  a  harmless  wandering  way 
farer,  I  arn  moved  to  say  that  I  like  flies.  They  are  a 
busy  and  a  cheery  folk,  well  worthy  of  study,  and  capa 
ble  of  rewarding  an  intelligent  curiosity.  I  remember* 
once  spending  a  whole  Sunday  afternoon  in  watching, 
one  with  great  interest,  and,  I  trust,  not  without  profit. 
How  could  Mr.  Theodore  Tilton  have  written  that 
charming  lyric,  beginning, 

"Baby  Bye, 

Here's  a  fly : 
Let  us  watch  him,  you  and  I," 

if  a  rigid  domestic  discipline  had  been  brought  to  bear 
on  the  immortal  little  guest  the  moment  he  appeared 
in  sight?  Certainly  it  was  .with  a  positive  satisfaction 
that  I  perceived  .one  day  on  what  a:  friendly  footing, 
stood  the  flies  with  a  certain  agreeable  and  refined  fum-. 


240  TWELVE  MILES  FHOM  A  L£JtOX.  ' 

ily  of  my  acquaintance.  The  windows  were  thrown 
wide  open,  and  with  the  scent  of  honeysuckle  and  the 
song  of  birds  came  in,  too,  the  busy,  contented,  pre 
occupied  tribe,  adding  their  blithe  buzz  to  the  sum 
mer's  infinite  harmony.  It  bespoke  a  large  and  lavish 
hospitality,  a  generous  sympathy,  a  unison  with  na 
ture,  a  freedom  from  petty  and  deteriorating  anxieties 
which  promises  well  for  the  future  and  the  human 
ities. 

The  world  is  full  of  wasps.  There  are  four  crawl 
ing  over  the  window-shade,  half  a  dozen  more  sunning 
themselves  on  the  glass,  two  or  three  creeping  out  of 
the  curtain  folds.  In  fact,  you  can  not  stir  any  thing 
without  disturbing  a  wasp.  Outdoors  their  buzz  is  in 
cessant.  The  sunny  south  angle  is  alive  with  their  fuss 
ing  and  fuming.  Where  they  lodge  no  one  can  find 
out.  This  morning,  behind  a  closed  south  blind,  a  col 
ony  of  them  was  found  hanging  to  the  window-sash 
outside.  They,  were  gathered  in  a  close  cluster,  as  if 
they  had  clubbed  together  to  keep  warm ;  and  perhaps 
they  had,  for  they  seem  to  be  a  slow,  cold-blooded  race. 
A  fly  is  swift,  active,  continually  busy.  lie  moves  as 
if  he  had  an  object  in  life,  as  if  he  had  taken  out  a 
contract,  and  were  paid  by  the  job ;  but  a  wasp  crawls 
around  sluggishly,  as  if  he  were  not  going  anywhere 
in  particular,  and  did  not  much  care  whether  he  got 
there  or  not.  So  he  stops  midway,  and  tries  to  start  up 
his  torpid  liver  by  a  sun-bath ;  but  midway  is  far  from 
being  the  safe  way  for  him.  It  is  just  there,  reflective 
and  immovable,  that  the  newspaper  or  the  wet  towel 
comes  slnp  down  on  him  like  a  thousand  avalanches; 


AUTUJfy  VOICES. 

and  it  is  only  when  the  newspaper  and  wet  towel  have 
missed  fire,  have  startled  without  stunning  him,  that 
he  shows  any  agility  in  walking.  With  such  incentives 
to  exertion,  I  have  seen  a  wasp  in  a  hurry,  tiptoeing 
frantically  along,  with  wings  upstretched,  like  Blondin 
on  his  tight  rope;  but  ordinarily  he  cornes  as  Lady 
Geraldine  went  to  Mr.  Bertram  after  he  had  half  recov 
ered  from  his  dead  faint, 

"Ever,  ever  more  the  while  in  a  slow  silence." 

Wasps  have  the  credit  or  discredit  of  being  an  irri 
table  race,  stinging  on  the  slightest  provocation.  That 
rnny  be,  but  our  wasps  are  evidently  a  better-bred  spe 
cies,  as  they  have  stung  no  one  yet,  though  they  have 
had  every  excuse  for  doing  so.  Wet  cloths  have  been 
slung  at  them,  death  has  menaced  them  at  the  brush 
end  of  the  broom,  scalding  water  has  been  the  slightest 
of  their  provocations,  the  duster  has  restricted  them  to 
the  dust-pan  till  the  burning  fiery  furnace  ingulfed  them 
to  a  swift  and,  we  trust,  an  almost  painless  departure 
from  a  terrified  world,  yet  through  it  all  they  have  nev 
er  pushed  one  sting.  But  as  the  poor  invalid,  who  was 
woefully  disturbed  by  the  cock  crowing,  remarked  to 
chanticleer's  owner,  who  affirmed  that  he  never  crowed 
more  than  half  a  dozen  times  of  a  morning,  "You  think 
of  what  I  suffer  when  he  crows;  you  do  not  count  what 
I  suffer  from  the  feeling  that  he  is  going  to  crow!" — as 
Prescott,  the  historian,  says  of  the  reign  of  terror  in  the 
Netherlands  under  the  Inquisition  and  Philip  II.,  "The 
amount  of  suffering  from  such  a  persecution  is  not  to 
be  estimated  merely  by  the  number  of  those  who  have 

11 


242  TWELVE  JIILES  FROM.  A  LEMOX. 

actually  suffered  death,  \\-hen  the  fear  of  death  hung 
like  a  naked  sword  over  every  man's  bead;"  so  the 
reason  \vhy  wasps  are  a  nuisance  is  not  the  amount 
of  physical  pain  but  mental  discomfort  that  they  cause 
you.  As  in  monetary  circles,  they  create  a  panic  by 
destroying  confidence.  So  while  the  busy,  friendly  flies 
we  poison  with  sugared  water,  tenderly,  as  if  we  loved 
them,  at  the  wasps,  equally  harmless,  but  with  harmful 
possibilities,  we  go  out  as  against  a  foe,  with  deadly 
weapons  and  fierce,  relentless  hostility. 

The  gravel-walk  before  the  front  door  has  been  hon 
ey-combed  with  holes,  some  of  which  on  investigation 
proved  to  be  three  or  four  inches  deep — as  deep  as  the 
point  of  your  sun-urnbrella.  A  little  winged  beast, 
black  and  vermilion,  with  two  curved  sickles  on  his 
head,  made  the  holes  by  vigorous  digging.  What  was 
the  name  of  the  little  horned  beast,  or  what  he  was  up 
to,  I  do  not  know,  not  being  sufficiently  well-read  in 
natural  history ;  but  he  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the 
hole,  and  seemed  to  be  very  busy  when  he  was  out 
of  it.  I  watched  several  days.  Had  there  been  but 
a  single  pair,  I  should  have  perhaps  eclipsed  Thoreau 
for  waiting,  and  Pliny  for  discovering,  but  they  came 
in  hordes;  they  seemed  determined  to  monopolize  the 
waHc.  Every  time  you  stepped  out-of-doors  the  air  was 
alive  and  angry  with  a  swarm  of  spiteful,  vicious,  ver 
milion  little  vixens  buzzing  about  your  ears.  So  one 
sunny  morning  I  sat  on  the  door-step,  and  as  soon  as 
a  fiery  imp  went  down  into  his  gallery  I  poked  the 
gravel  on  him  with  my  parasol,  till  every  house  within 
reach  had  caved  in.  The  others  somehow  crot  wind  of 


X  VOICES.  243 

it,  and  they  all  went  away.  If  they  are  an  absolutely 
harmless  tribe,  I  am  sorry  I  did  it,  but  no  doubt  there 
are  plenty  more,  and  they  must  learn  to  colonize  on 
land  that  has  not  already  been  pre-empted. 

Kesting  on  a  rock  by  the  road-side  one  afternoon,  we 
noticed  a  little  fellow  something  like  a  beetle,  but  ap 
parently  not  a  beetle,  digging  away  for  dear  life,  lie 
was  making  a  hole,  and  he  worked  at  it  with  a  very 
comical  energy.  His  slender  little  claws — antennae,  or 
whatever  you  call  them— made  the  dirt  fly,  and  when 
the  heap  was  so  large  as  to  obstruct  the  entrance  to  his 
gallery,  he  leveled  it  with  admirable  swiftness  and  skill. 
Sometimes  he  went  in  head  first  and  pawed,  and  some 
times  he  went  in  tail  first  and  shoved.  The  size  of  the 
pebbles  which  he  lugged  out  was  surprising — one  you 
could  not  get  into  a  number  seven  thimble— and  the 
persistence  with  which  he  tugged  and  toiled  over  his 
load  was  amazing.  When  the  gallery  was  apparently 
finished  he  flew  away.  Soon  a  wriggling  was  observed 
in  the  grass  two  or  three  yards  off,  and  there  appeared 
our  bonnie  bug  riding  a  big  brown  locust  three  or  four 
times  as  long  as  himself.  This  locust  proved,  however, 
to  be  dead  or  very  much  demoralized.  The  bug  was 
striding  his  neck,  and  dragging  him  along  by  main 
force.  When  within  a  foot  and  a  half  of  the  cavern 
the  bug  left  the  locust,  ran  forward  and  examined  the 
hole,  trotted  back  and  forth  several  times  between  the 
two,  evidently  taking  measurements  with  his  eye,  made 
the  excavation  a  little  deeper,  dragged  np  the  locust  to 
his  grave,  tilted  him  over  the  edge,  and  shot  him  in 
head-foremost!  As  he  did  not  at  once  wholly  disap- 


244  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

pear,  the  bug  leaped  in  himself,  dragged  him  down,  then 
climbed  out,  shoveled  in  the  dirt  upon  him,  leaped  in 
after  it,  and  trod  it  all  down  snug  and  close  around  ev 
ery  part,  till,  by  a  laborious  process,  the  hole  was  com 
pletely  and  compactly  filled,  the  heap  of  gravel  leveled, 
and  no  sign  left  of  the  burial  but  a  patch  of  fresh  earth. 
If  I  could  have  stayed  a  little  longer,  I  suppose  I  should 
have  seen  him  put  up  a  head-stone  with  an  epitaph,  but 
I  was  obliged  to  go.  It  was  as  interesting  a  display  of 
skill,  persistence,  and  activity  as  one  often  witnesses; 
and  I  should  very  much  like  to  know  whether  it  was  a 
foe  that  he  was  burying,  or  food  that  he  was  salting 
down  for  winter. 

Some  pestilent  fellows  lately  prostituted  our  agricul 
tural  fairs  to  the  promotion  of  patches  by  promising 
premiums  to  the  best  mender.  And  there  were  not 
wanting  foolish  virgins  to  come  forward  and  compete 
for  the  prize.  Now  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  a  patch 
may  not  sometimes  be  requisite  and  necessary  as  well 
for  the  body  as  the  soul ;  but  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
darning  and  patching  and  mending  be}*ond  what  is 
wholesome.  "Women  will  sometimes  darn  stockings 
which,  as  stockings,  had  no  right  to  further  existence. 
True  economy  would  have  put  the  feet  into  the  rag-bag 
and  sewed  up  the  legs  into  dishcloths;  and  to  see  n  hu 
man  being,  capable  of  love  and  hope  and  memory  and 
judgment,  turn  away  from  this  great,  beautiful  world, 
and  all  the  stir  and  thrill  of  multiform  life,  and  give  it 
self  to  driving  a  stupid  little  steel  crow-bar  back  and 
forth  through  a  yawning  heel  and  a  dilapidated  toe 
when  whole  stock inccs  can  be  bonsrht  at  fortv  cents  a 


AUTUMN  VOICES.  245 

pair,  is  melancholy,  not  to  say  exasperating.  We  are 
not  bugs. 

"A  little  darning  now  and  then 
Is  relished  by  the  best  of  men  ;" 

and  there  is  a  nervous  irritation  which  is  allayed  by  a 
short  and  solitary  turn  at  the  needle,  and  there  are  acci 
dents  and  incidents  which,  demand  a  stitch,  and  which 
no  "right-minded  woman  will  refuse;  but  a  protracted 
and  repeated  darning — a  darning  on  principle  and  from 
choice,  a  premeditated  and  vainglorious  prostration  be 
fore  the  shrine  of  this  little  one-eyed  despot — is  a  sight 
for  gods  and  men  to  weep  over,  not  hold  out  prizes  to! 

I  say-  again,  if  a  woman  must,  she  must,  and  that  is 
the  end  of  it;  but  she  often  thinks  she  must  when  she 
need  not.  She  often  darns  and  mends  and  makes  over 
what  it  would  be  cheaper  to  throw  away — infinitely 
cheaper,  as  regards  time  and  patience  and  happiness, 
which  are  real  values — and  not  dearer  in  respect  of 
money,  which  only  represents  value. 

Patient  Griselda,  do  not  let  your  patience — which  in 
right  measure  and  for  right  purposes  is  a  divine  virtue 
— degenerate  into  meanness  of  spirit,  insipidity  of  mind, 
poverty  of  resources,  and  acquiescence  in  what  is  not 
inevitable.  Life  is  short,  and  its  issues  mighty;  and 
there  are  things  which  ought  to  be  done  with  painstak 
ing,  and  things  that  ought  to  be  done  slightly,  and 
things  that  ought  not  to  be  done  at  all.  She  is  the  wise 
woman  and  the  thrifty  housekeeper  who  accurately  dis 
criminates  and  intelligently  chooses  the  good  part  which 
shall  not  be  taken  awav  from  her. 


2-iG  T\VEL\'E  X1LES  FROM  A  LE3IOX. 


XIV. 

OF  SOCIAL  FORMULA  AND  SOCIAL 
FREEDOM. 

WHY  should  \ve  be  creatures  of  formula,  and  not  of 
philosophy  ?  There  is  a  reason  under  every  rule,  if  we 
would  only  take  the  trouble  to  think  it  out;  and  we 
should  thereby  save  ourselves  the  trouble  of  remember 
ing  the  rule,  and  other  people  the  trouble  arising  from 
our  forgetting  it.  Grammar  is  not  an  invention.  It  is 
only  a  classification  of  usages.  The  nominative  case 
governs  the  verb  in  number  and  person,  not  because 
some  Lindley  Murray  put  on  a  crown  and  sceptre  and 
said  it  should,  but  because  he  found  that  when  respect 
able  people  talk  it  always  does.  The  rules  which  regu 
late  parliamentary  organization  and  debate  seem  to  be 
involved,  arbitrary,  and  technical;  but  a  close  investi 
gation,  a  thoughtful  analysis,  a  reductio  ad  alsurdum, 
shows  that  they  are  not  woven  of  red  tape,  but  are  laid 
down  each  one  for  a  definite  purpose,  and  that  purpose 
if,  without  exception,  a  right  and  righteous  one.  This 
rule  is  to  prevent  a  factious  minority  from  wasting  the 
time  in  useless  delay.  That  is  to  prevent  a  powerful 
and  successful  majority  from  overriding  the  rights  of 
the  minority.  If  you  study  the  rules  as  some  students 
learn  geometry,  by  main  force  of  remembering  that  the 
angle  A  C  D  is  contained  by  the  sides  A  C,  C  D,  you  are 
in  a  lubvrinth  at  once.  But  if  you  look  at  the  reasons 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AND  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.         247 

for  the  rules,  you  have  a  thread  to  guide  you  out,  even 
when  you  do  not  quite  see  the  path  ih  which  you  are 
to  walk.  You  can  be  a  rule  unto  yourself.  No  man 
—nay,  in  view  of  the  possibilities  of  our  politics,  let  us 
say  no  woman — can  be  a  good  parliamentarian  unless 
she  reads  between  the  lines,  and  sees  that  laws  are  nec 
essary  and  effective,  as  well  as  that  they  are. 

I  hope  this  is  a  sufficiently  learned  preamble  to  my  lec 
ture,  and  will  strike  terror  into  those  culprits  for  whom 
it  is  written — those  unthinking,  vexatious  people  who 
fail  to  answer  your  letters  because  you  did  not  give 
them  your  address!  They  are  the  people  who  will 
never  succeed  in  Congress,  because  they  will  be  tripped 
up  instead  of  helped  on  by  the  rules.  They  will  ac 
complish  little  as  doctors,  because,  when  bleeding  and 
warm  water  fails,  all  they  can  do  is  draw  more  blood 
and  administer  more  warm  water.  They  will  be  wretch 
ed  country  dwellers,  because  they  must  have  the  regu 
lation  quantity  of  straw  or  they  can  never  make  bricks; 
whereas  the  ordinary  routine  of  country  life  is  the 
steady  production  of  bricks  without  straw,  making 
without  machinerv.  and  mending;  without  tools. 

»/    /  O 

"Did  not  give  the  address."  But  may  not  the  Chief- 
justice  of  the  United  States  Supreme  Court  be  assumed 
to  know  something?  If  no  State  is  named  in  the  date 
of  your  letter,  is  it  not  always  understood  that  you  are 
in  the  same  State  with  the  person  addressed?  If  no 
town  or  city  is  named,  is  it  not  also  because  you  are  in 
(he  same  with  your  correspondent  ?  By  a  parity  of  rea 
soning,  does  not  the  date  of  a  letter  always  involve  tho 
address  of  the  person  writing  it,  unless  some  other  ad- 


248  TWEL  VE  MILES  FJROlf  A  LENOX. 

dress  be  given?  Or  must  a  man  append  to  liis  date 
the  statement,  "  This  is  where  I  am  ?"  No.  If  you  date 
your  letter  at  Yonkers,  New  York,  and  desire  an  imme 
diate  answer,  the  whole  duty  of  the  man  to  whom  you 
write  is  to  send  you  an  answer  to  Yonkers,  New  York. 
If,  in  the  mean  while,  you  have  gone  to  Omaha,  or  if 
your  letters  need  to  be  sent  to  Washington  Street,  No. 
1872,  and  you  have  failed  to  give  directions  to  that  end, 
your  blood  be  on  your  own  head ;  but  let  the  answer 
go  to  Yonkers. 

There  is  another  epistolary  sin,  of  sad  import  to  conn- 
try-folk.  My  dinner  is  spoiled,  my  beefsteak  with 
stuffing,  my  snow-pudding,  and  all  my  tid-bits  must 
waste  their  sweetness  because  my  expected  guest  did 
not  give  me  her  full  address,  and  has  probably  not  re 
ceived  my  summons.  She  had  given  it  in  her  previous 
letter,  which  lotter,  being  answered,  was  immediately 
deposited  in  the  waste-basket;  and  the  last  letter  gave 
only  the  name  of  the  great  city  in  which  she,  a  pilgrim 
and  a  stranger,  was  to  tarry  for  a  few  nights.  Where 
upon  I,  the  philosopher  and  parliamentarian,  lay  down 
in  addition  to 

RULE  1.  For  the  person  addressed. — The  date  of  a  let 
ter  involves  the  address  of  its  writer. 

RULE  2.  For  the  person  writing. — Let  the  date  of  every 
letter  involve  the  address  of  the  reply. 

Otherwise  we  must  carry  upon  our  backs  a  burden 
of  old  letters,  or  in  our  brains  a  heavier  burden  of 
streets  and  numbers.  And  why  should  you  make  my 
rustic  brain  remember  No.  879,563  East  Ninety-ninth 
Street,  between  Chester  Square  and  Madison  Avenue, 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AXD  SOCIAL  FREEDOM. 

when  I  am  already  overwhelmed  with  the  effort  to  re 
member  to  direct  my  workmen  to  put  a  transom  win 
dow  over  the  bath-room  door,  and  two  funnel  holes  in 
the  chimney,  and  a  scroll  on  the  portico  pillar,  and 
make  the  cistern  ten  feet  deep,  and  shut  up  the  chick 
ens  every  night?  Just  date  your  letter,  and  save  to  a 
wretched  life  one  item. 

Eevolving  these  views  in  my  mind,  as  used  ^Eneas 
and  Dido  in  our  school-days,  the  dinner  is  eaten  and  re 
moved,  Malone  is  departed  to  the  society  of  her  swains, 
and  I  sit  with  "Thackeray"  in  the  twilight,  when,  sud 
den  and  shame-faced,  in  comes  my  guest!  I  am  divided 
between,  welcome  and  consternation.  Here,  after  all,  is 
the  fair,  sweet  face  I  longed  for;  but  there,  alas!  is  the 
empty  table;  and  where  is  the  absent  maid?  where  is 
the  savory  steak?  where  the  extraordinary  pudding  and 
the  coagulated  gravy — where  ? 

"So  you  did  get  my  letter  in  spite  of  the  lack  of 
street  and  number?" 

"Yes,  it  came  duly;  but  I  misunderstood  the  direc 
tions.  You  said  the  four  o'clock  train,  and  I  thought 
you  meant  our  four  o'clock  train,  which  I  took  ;  and  it 
dropped  me  on  the  way,  not  being  a  through  train." 

"  Oh."  I  moan,  "  I  meant  the  train  that  reaches  us  at 
four  o'clock,"  and  foresee  the  tables  turned  on  myself j 
and  disgrace  impending,  for  Hassan  the  Turk  ever  avows 
that  the  four  o'clock  train  is  the  train  that  leaves  the 
Hub  of  the  Universe  at  four  o'clock,  entirely  irrespect 
ive  of  the  time  it  whistles  along  to  any  station  on  the 
spokes  or  rim.  But  I  maintain  that  the  centre  of  the 
universe  for  me  is  where  I  am.  Why  must  I  leave  my 


250  TWELVE  MILES  FliOlf  A  LEMOX. 

shepherd's  crook,  humble  though  it  be,  and  travel  to  the 
great  cities  to  assume  a  railway  train?  I  know  not  when 
it  leaves  Boston  or  New  York,  or  whether  it  leaves  them 
at  all.  I  do  know  when  it  reaches  me,  and  of  that  I 
testify,  yea,  and  will  testify. 

"  Yes,"  says  Hassan  the  Turk.  "You  would  no  long 
er  have  longitude  reckoned  from  Greenwich  and  lat 
itude  from  the  equator,  but  every  man  should  reckon 
from  the  centre  of  his  own  dining-room,  which  would 
simplify  navigation.  Learn  to  look  at  the  principles  of 
things,  and  not  simply  at  the  incident  which  lies  next 
to  your  hand." 

But  I  am  the  philosopher,  not  the  pbilosophee,  and 
shall  I  be  tamely  hoist  with  my  own  petard? 

I  am  not  confident  about  that  four  o'clock  train.  But 
I  know  I  bear  a  grudge  against  it  for  giving  my  guest 
a  cold  dinner. 

I  am  next  day  smitten  with  a  desire  to  see  you,  my 
intimate  friend — a  desire  so  irresistible  that  I  take  the 
train  and  an  hour's  journey  for  the  purpose,  and  must 
take  the  return  train  home  in  another  hour.  You  are 
equally  desirous  to  see  me,  and  for  fifteen  minutes  we  un 
fold  our  budget  unmolested;  but  by  the  time  our  intel 
lectual  wares  are  unpacked  and  well  scattered,  the  door 
bell  rings,  and  up  come  the  cards  of  Mrs.  A  and  Miss  B. 

"  Oh !"  say  you,  trying  to  smother  an  inhospitable  ex 
clamation  of  disappointment  into  an  innocent  exclama 
tion  of  surprise. 

"Oh!"  say  I,  in  outspoken  disappointment,  for  it  is 
no  ho,use  of  mine,  and  I  am  not  under  bonds  to  be  hos 
pitable.  "  Can't  you  (do  something?" 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  ASD  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.         251 

A  sensible  and  practical  suggestion  ;  but  what  you  do 
is  to  go  down  and  see  the  excellent  Mrs.  A  and  Miss  B, 
and  I  sit  alone  and  reflect  that  there  is  no  freedom  in 
our  social  life.  And  there  never  will  be  any.  And  there 
never  can  be  any.  And  we  get  on  very  comfortably 
without  it  Only  it  is  pleasant  to  rattle  our  chains  once 
in  a  while,  and  hold  up  the  links  to  look  through  them, 
and  let  it  be  understood  that  we  know  we  wear  them, 
and  are  not  living  in  a  mistaken  belief  that  we  are  free. 
Mr.  Henry  Eogers,  in  his  charming  "Grey son  Letters," 
shows  a  very  lively  sense  of  the  existing  state  of  things. 
He  sees  there  is  no  possibility  of  any  different  social 
status  in  this  world,  and  is  very  careful  to  locate  his  re 
form  in  the  next.  Even  in  heaven  he  considers  that  the 
angels  will  sometimes  bore  each  other;  but  it  is  only 
in  heaven  that  the  angel  who  sings  you  the  119th  Psalm 
without  stopping,  and  then  begins  again,  may  be  act 
ually  hushed  up  at  the  hundredth  stanza  without  his 
taking  offense  at  it!  In  another  and  a  better  world, 
but  never  in  this,  may  we  accomplish  such  a  feat. 

For,  look  you,  Mrs.  A  and  Miss  B  are  your  town  folk, 
who  can  visit  you  at  any  time  on  the  supposition  that 
they  really  want  to  see  you.  But  they  do  not  want  to 
see  you.  If  they  had  come  to  the  door  and  been  told 
that  you  were  out,  not  a  pang  would  have  rent  their 
hearts ;  not  a  slvade  of  sorrow  would  have  saddened 
their  faces.  They  would  have  communed  with  each 
other  on  departing,  "Well,  we  have  made  our  call,  and 
have  gained  time  enough  to  call  on  Mrs.  C.  Eeally,  we 
are  in  luck  to-day." 

Does  this  argue  false  friendship  on  the  part  of  those 


252  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

estimable  women  ?  Not  the  least  in  tbe  world.  Un 
doubtedly  they  esteem  you  very  highly  in  love  for 
your  work's  sake.  They  are  quite  devoid  of  any  hos 
tility  toward  yon,  or  any  want  of  faith  in  your  integri 
ty.  If  you  are  sick,  they  will  inquire  for  you  with  real 
and  warm  interest,  will  send  you  flowers  and  oranges 
and  exquisite  tid-bits,  which  your  soul  loathes  and  your 
children  devour ;  but  as  for  seeing  you  at  any  special 
time  or  at  any  special  interval,  their  hearts  are  in  no 
wise  bent  on  it.  And  you  equally  were  not  particularly 
desirous  of  seeing  them,  and  you  were  desirous  of  seeing 
me,  let  us  assume.  If,  now,  you  were  in  another  and  a 
better  world,  you  would  say  to  them, 

"  My  friend  is  here  for  a  short  time,  and  we  wish  much 
to  have  a  little  talk  together.  You  can  come  any  time ; 
so  just  you  go  away  now."  And  the  lovely  ladies  being, 
under  the  circumstances,  all  sorts  of  angels,  would  stretcli 
their  white  wings  and  soar  away  to  some  other  of  the 
many  mansions  as  sweetly  as  if  they  had  been  let  in  to 
yours. 

But  try  that  heavenly  etiquette  in  this  world,  and 
you  would  soon  have  very  few  callers  to  try  it  on. 
Your  friends  would  smile  suavely,  and  say,  "Oh,  cer 
tainly;  I  would  not  interrupt  you  on  any  account." 

And  as  soon  as  the  front  gate  clicked  behind  them, 
one  would  say  to  the  other,  "Wasn't  that  cool?"  and 
the  other  would  reply,  "  I  should  rather  think  so." 

And,  without  -entering  into  any  formal  pact,  they 
would  mutually  agree  that  you  would  not  have  the 
opportunity  to  refuse  them  again  for  one  while! 

And  the  beauty  of  it  is,  that  you  would  feel  and  do 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AND  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.         253 

precisely  the  same  were  you  in  their  place,  and  so  would 
I.  Nobody  will  often  visit  at  houses  where  they  tell 
him,  in  so  many  words,  that  they  would  rather  see  some 
one  else.  That  is  what  it  amounts  to.  No  matter  how 
delicately  the  preference  may  be  decorated,  it  is  still  a 
preference,  and  we  do  not  wish  to  go  where  we  are  not 
wanted,  not  we ! 

It  is  because  you  well  know  this  that  you  leave  me, 
and  descend  into  the  parlor  to  your  neighbors,  and  be 
tween  you  you  dig  out  a  half  of  the  hour  that  in  the 
nature  of  things  belongs  to  me,  and  fill  up  the  whole 
with  unnecessary  chat  about  the  society,  and  the  picnic, 
and  the  sick  people ;  all  of  which  means  only  that  you 
still  continue  to  be  friendly,  and  not  hostile,  which  is 
much,  I  grant.  But  the  ladies  are  no  more  assured  of 
it,  and  no  more  satisfied  in  the  consciousness  of  dimin 
ishing  their  list  of  calls  by  one,  than  they  would  be  if 
you  had  been  absent.  You  are  inwardly  impatient  to 
see  me,  whose  time  is  short,  and  you  fret  a  double  quan 
tity  because  you  know  I  am  impatient.  As  for  me,  I 
walk  up  and  down  the  room,  and  look  at  the  clock,  and 
grow  wroth  without  reason,  for  nobody  is  to  blame. 
We  are  all  good  citizens,  doing  our  social  duty,  and  do 
ing  it  in  the  only  way  it  can  be  done,  or  will  be  done, 
until  our  wings  are  grown. 

In  communities  where  these  things  are  reduced  to  a 
system,  "not  at  home"  comes  into  play  to  great  advan 
tage.  Some  persons  have  constitutional  objections  to 
this  formula  when  it  is  used  to  express  what  the  words 
by  themselves  do  not  imply.  But  that  view  is  merely 
superficial.  You  are  not  telling  the  truth,  they  say. 


254  TWELVE  MILES  FH01I  A  LE2JOX. 

Well,  you  do  not  want  to  tell  it,  But  you  nre  tell 
ing  a  falsehood.  Not  at  all.  The  phrase  has  a  tech 
nical  and  perfectly  understood  sense.  You  send  out 
cards,  saying  that  you  will  be  "at  home"  on  sue^  «» 
da}r.  According  to  this  theory,  the  cards  are  an  imper 
tinence.  What  do  the  card-receivers  care  whether  you 
are  at  home  or  not?  The  significance  of  the  announce 
ment  is  that  you  wish  them  to  be  at  your  home  with 
you.  And  the  significance  of  the  other  statement  is 
that  you  do  not  wish  them  to  be  at  home  with  you. 
Why  not  say  so,  then?  Because  human  nature  is  so 
sensitive  a  thing  that  it  can  not  bear  much,  and  we 
have  to  guard  it  at  all  points.  The  ''not  at  home" 
leaves  every  thing  in  a  delightful  dubiety.  You  may 
be  actually  away;  we  can,  at  least,  always  flatter  our 
self-love  that  you  are  away,  and  we  feel  better  in  con 
sequence. 

And  you,  my  friend,  who  are  such  a  stickler  for  the 
truth,  would  be  the  first  to  take  offense  if  we  told  you 
the  truth.  Blessings  on  the  man  or  woman  who  in 
vented  this  nice  little  short-cut  to  our  convenience  with 
out  crossing  our  self-love! 

But  in  country  communities  where  this  formula  is 
not  adopted,  and  where  the  words,  therefore,  would  be 
false,  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  "face  the  music"  at 
any  inconvenience,  or 

"Run  and  deposit 
Yourself  in  a  closet,'' 

and  listen  to  Malone  slamming  and  calling  through  the 
house  in  a  vain  show,  and  enact  the  following  dialogue 
when  you  present  yourself  at  dinner: 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AXD  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.         255 

MALONE.  "An'  indade,  mum,  I  did  not  know  you 
was  out." 

YOURSELF  (I  adopt  the  method  of  the  old  tract  dia 
logues  between  "Yourself"  and  "A  Sinner").  ':I  have 
not  been  out,  Malone." 

MALOXE.  "  Why,  sure,  mum,  Mrs.  A  and  Miss  B  was 
here,  an'  I  tould  them  you  was  in,  an'  fetched  'em  in, 
and  couldn't  find  you  at  all." 

YOURSELF  (benignly).  "Never  mind,  Malone,  I  shall 
have  opportunity  to  see  them  again  soon." 

Either  mode,  as  Macaulay  said  of  torture,  has  its  ad 
vantages.  But  perhaps  neither  is  wholly  free  from  dis 
advantages. 

In  the  countrv,  however,  where  callers  are  few  and 

*/  i  t 

distances  long,  it  is  a  very  great  inconvenience  indeed 
which  can  justify  us  in  turning  away  a  visitor  from  the 
door,  or,  still  more,  in  turning  away  a  visitor  after  she 
is  within  doors. 

There  are  visits  which  remain  in  our  memories  as 
bright  spots  in  life,  and  there  are  visits  whose  only  pleas 
ure  is  that  they  are  over.  But  visiting  ought  always 
to  be  pleasant — pleasant  to  both  giver  and  receiver. 

One  of  the  best  things  connected  with  keeping  house 
is  the  freedom  to  receive  one's  friends.  Many  a  newly 
married  couple,  many  a  small  family  without  children, 
could  board  with  far  less  care  and  expense  than  house 
keeping  costs  them,  and  with  almost  equal  comfort.  Nor 
need  housekeeping  be  confined  to  married  people,  or  to 
those  whom  God  hath  set  in  families.  Why  do  not 
the  solitary  set  themselves  in  families?  Few  women 
ever  think  of  keeping  house  and  making  a  home  for 


256  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

themselves  and  a  centre  of  social  life  for  their  circle  un 
less  they  are  married.  Of  course  it  is  a  great  deal  easier 
to  set  up  and  keep  up  an  establishment  with  a  man  at 
the  fore — if  he  is  the  right  sort  of  man.  The  right  sort 
of  man  is  one  who  knows  instinctively  when  to  be  an 
active  partner  and  when  to  be  a  silent  partner;  who 
goes  to  the  front  when  there  is  money  to  be  earned  for 
the  home,  and  to  the  rear  when  it  is  to  be  spent;  who 
provides  and  enjoys  a  bountiful  table,  but  is  sweet-tem 
pered,  cheerful,  and  consoling  in  an  emergency ;  who  is 
main-stay  and  head  centre  of  the  family,  but  who  shows 
it  only  in  constant  providence  and  tender  watchfulness 
— a  man  of  whose  comfort  and  taste  every  one  else  thinks 
first,  but  who  thinks  of  it  himself  least  and  last.  Such 
a  man  is  a  real  help  in  housekeeping.  But  suppose  a 
man  is  ignorant  or  incapable,  has  small  knack  in  getting 
on,  never  is  suited  with  his  situation,  but  leaves  a  good 
one  in  search  of  a  better,  and  finds  none;  refuses  a  sal 
ary  of  a  thousand  a  year  because  his  "family  can't  live 
on  a  thousand  dollars,"  and  so  they  live  on  nothing; 
does  not  know  what  to  do  with  money  when  he  gets  it, 
but  fritters  it  away  in  trifling  expenditures  and  foolish 
investments,  while  his  family  lack  comfort  in  the  pres 
ent  and  security  for  the  future;  or  suppose  he  is  thrifty 
but  fretful,  exacting,  imperious,  capricious,  selfish  —  is 
he  a  help  over  the  hard  places  in  housekeeping?  If  a 
man^ean,  in  case  of  distress,  put  on  a  door-knob,  mend 
a  broken  pane  of  glass,  hang  a  picture,  tack  down  a  car 
pet,  entertain  a  guest,  eat  stale  bread  and  like  it  when 
the  stove  would  not  draw  and  the  biscuit  will  not  bake. 
he  is  pleasant  to  have  about,  and  far  better  than  no- 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AND  SOCIAL  FREEDOM. 

body  ;  but  the  chances  are  large  that  lie  can  not  ineiul 
the  knob,  and  will  forget  to  call  a  carpenter,  and  may 
lower  over  the  "slim  breakfast;"  so  that  his  failure  to 
put  in  an  appearance  need  not  be  fatal  to  an  establish 
ment.  But  if  a  girl  is  left,  the  one  ungathered  rose 
upon  the  family  tree,  she  goes  to  live  with  her  married 
sister  or  brother,  and,  ten  to  one,  becomes  merged  in  the 
family,  and  presently  loses  all  distinct  individuality  of 
position  or  influence. 

So  the  teachers  in  a  city,  and  the  clerks  and  the  shop 
girls,  and  all  unmarried  and  self-supporting  or  inde 
pendent  women,  live  in  boarding-houses  or  in  families, 
often  finding  it  difficult  to  secure  an  agreeable  homo, 
and  often  dwelling  in  a  place  and  a  manner  that  pre 
clude  every  idea  of  home,  and  really  deprive  them  of  a 
large  part  of  the  social  power  to  which  their  character 
and  ability  entitle  them. 

Suppose,  now.  four  young  gentlewomen  who  have 
been  left  each  with  a  slender  income,  quite  insufficient 
for  gentle  housekeeping,  but  sufficient  for  a  respectable 
maintenance  in  the  proffered  home  of  a  brother  or 
brother-in-law,  without  further  help  from  him  than  such 
proffer  affords.  Suppose  that,  instead  of  accepting  these 
offers  and  becoming  superfluous  members  of  other  fam 
ilies — assistants  possibly,  but  not  indispensable,  and  al 
ways  subordinate — these  four  should  unite  their  forces. 
Four  insufficient  incomes  may  combine  into  one  suffi 
cient  not  only  for  comfort,  but  for  elegance.  The  cost 
of  housekeeping  for  four  women  is  very  far  from  be 
ing  four  times  the  cost  of  housekeeping  for  one.  In 
many  respects  it  would  not  be  perceptibly  increased. 


258  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

One  woman,  for  instance,  would  need  one  servant;  and 
by  distributing  the  light  and  agreeable  but  time-and- 
care-needing  parts  of  the  house-work  among  themselves, 
four  women  could  do  perfectly  well  with  one  servant. 
Even  their  association  can  be  so  guarded  that  there 
shall  be  no  necessity  for  undue  or  undesired  intimacy, 
and  liking  shall  be  its  only  measure.  Each  one's  share 
of  superintendence  and  service  can  be  rigidly  prescribed 
and  observed.  The  dining-room  and  parlor  are  the 
only  common  ground.  In  their  own  rooms  they  are  as 
secluded  and  supreme  as  if  their  souls  were  like  star?, 
and  dwelt  apart.  In  the  drawing-room  they  are  har 
monious  and  hospitable.  To  the  outside  world  they 
are  householders,  a  family,  a  unit.  They  may  receive 
and  entertain;  they  have  standing,  a  local  habitation, 
and  a  name.  To  themselves  they  are  themselves — free, 
self-possessed,  self-acting.  It  needs  only  a  certain  pow 
er  of  adaptation — a  certain  similarity,  or  rather  harmo 
ny,  of  taste  and  purpose — to  begin  with,  and  then  a  mod 
erate  amount  of  Christian  forbearance,  of  intelligent  al 
lowance,  and,  above  all,  scrupulous  and  invariable  good- 
breeding.  But  there  is  no  situation  in  life  in  which 
good-breeding  is  not  indispensable  to  happiness  and 
character;  while  in  point  of  forbearance  and  adaptation 
they  would  not  need  to  exercise  half  as  much  as  if  they 
were  married.  The  strain  upon  patience  and  temper 
would  be  far  less  than  in  marriage;  and  though,  justly 
enough,  the  happiness  arising  from  the  alliance  might 
be  less  intense  and  perfect,  it  would  be  far  greater  than 
from  a  tame  and  spiritless  life  of  perpetual  subordina 
tion  or  perpetual  self-denial. 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  ASD  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.    259 

Or  suppose  the  four  gentlewomen  supplement  or  sup 
ply  their  income  by  teaching  or  by  some  form  of  remu 
nerative  work.  Each  earns  five  hundred  dollars  a  year. 
Five  hundred  dollars  a  year  would  keep  no  house,  but 
four  five,  hundreds  would  keep  one  respectably  and 
comfortably.  By  systematic  arrangement,  four  friends, 
one  would  think,  might  live  together  in  a  cozi ness  and 
even  a  luxury  unattainable  at  any  boarding-house 
which  their  means  could  command,  with  a  pride  of  self- 
direction  and  independence  which  would  be  impossible 
for  them  in  any  other  family,  and  at  a  cost  really  less 
than  their  united  expenses  in  a  separate  life.  They 
would  purchase  comfort  and  supervision  at  a  less  price 
than  discomfort  and  subordination.  They  would  spend 
their  money  for  exactly  what  they  wanted,  and  of  what 
ever  economy  they  chose  to  exercise  themselves  would 
renp  the  fruits. 

But  the  boarder  is  dependent  upon  the  will  and  con* 
venience  of  others.  He  can  not  invite  his  friends  to 
come  and  spend  a  week  with  him  without  consulting 
the  capabilities,  or  depending  for  welcome  upon  the  dis 
position,  of  some  other  host  than  himself.  This  puts 
him  in  an  attitude  not  wholly  dignified — not  that  which 
a  mature  person,  man  or  woman,  would  naturally  choose 
to  maintain.  The  householder  is  monarch  of  all  he  sur 
veys,  and  invites  at  his  own  sweet  will.  If  he  meets  an 
old  friend  suddenly  in  the  street,  if  she  learns  by  chance 
that  a  former  school-mate  is  in  the  neighborhood,  there 
are  no  outside  authorities  to  consult,  no  whirns  or 
moods  of  a  landlady  to  consider.  Forth  from  the  \»ann 
welcoming  heart  goes  the  invitation,  and  the  fatted  calf 


260  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

walks  to  the  block  at  once,  knowing  tlint  his  hour  is 
come. 

This  theoretically ;  yet  practically  the  hospitality  of 
householders  sometimes  seems  as  really  hedged  in  as  if 
they  were  but  inmates  of  a  stranger's  house.  People 
who  are  hospitable  at  heart,  thoroughly  friendly  and 
well  disposed,  do  yet  make  such  a  burden  of  hospitality 
that  one  wonders  how  they  can  find  any  pleasure  in  it. 
This  is  a  great  pit}7,  for  the  exchange  of  visits  ought  to 
be  what  it  is  capable  of  being,  one  of  the  great  pleasures 
of  life,  a  rest,  a  refreshment,  an  incentive,  not  a  burden. 

But  to  render  it  so  we  need  not  follow  the  rules  laid 
down  in  the  books,  to  divest  receptions  of  their  terror  by 
being  always  ready  to  receive.  Is  it  Euskin,  or  East- 
lake,  or  Launcelot,  or  another,  who  condemns  exten 
sion-tables  on  the  ground  that  your  table  should  be 
equally  large  at  all  times,  to  indicate  that  you  are  al 
ways  ready  for  your  friends?  Go  to,  Eastlake  and 
Launcelot!  Sincerity  is  the  -watch-word  of  the  new 
dispensation.  We  must  have  the  supports  of  our 
brackets  visible,  and  the  chair-legs  as  palpably  as  they 
are  really  and  as  really  as  they  arc  palpably  firm ;  but 
if  the  table  is  to  indicate  that  we  are  always  ready  for 
our  friend,  the  table  becomes  at  once  a  piece  of  house 
hold  artfulness  and  not  of  household  art,,  for  we  are 
not  at  all  times  equally  ready.  Honesty  in  life  must 
precede  honesty  in  furniture.  We  need  not  direct  our 
efforts  to  being  always  ready  to  see  friends,  but  we 
rould  do  much  in  the  way  of  trying  not  to  be  disturbed 
liy  fheir  coming  when  we  are  not  readjr.  If  Serena 
could  have  her  own  way,  she  would  prefer  Celestia's 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AXD  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.         261 

call  to  be  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  midday  meal  is 
over,  the  dishes  are  washed  and  removed,  and  Serena 
is  calmly  reposing  in  tidy  dress  and  comparative  leisure. 
But  if  Celestia  must  leave  town  by  the  noon  train,  and 
runs  in  by  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  Serena  is 
trimming  the  lamps,  and  there  is  much  odor  of  petro 
leum  in  the  air,  and  Serena's  fingers  are  not  wholesome 
to  Celestia's  gloves,  shall  Serena  be  dismayed  and  apol 
ogize  and  mentally  regret  that  she  is  always  "caught 
in  the  suds?"  Not  the  least  in  the  world,  if  she  is  a 
sensible  and  friendly  woman.  If  it  is  the  proper  time 
for  her  to  be  cleaning  lamps,  and  she  is  in  a  garb  proper 
to  a  lamp-cleaner,  she  has  no  call  to  be  disturbed  though 
the  Queen  of  England,  in  crown  and  sceptre,  should  pay 
her  a  morning  visit.  She  should  not  consider  herself 
as  "caught  in  the  suds,"  or  as  caught  at  all.  She  is  in 
the  suds  of  her  own  free-will  and  by  the  fore-ordina 
tion  of  Heaven,  and  if  "Heaven  itself  should  stoop  to 
her,''  it  ought  to  find  her  nowhere  else  at  that  hour. 
It  would  be  very  unbecoming  that  she  should  be  trim 
ming  her  lamps  in  a  silk  gown  in  the  front  parlor. 
Why  not  be  entirely  frank  and  at  ease,  and  if  her  work 
be  pressing,  bid  Celestia  to  a  safe  seat  by  the  kitchen 
fire,  or  if  she  can  conveniently  go  off  duty  for  a  while, 
take  her  pleasant  chat  to  the  pleasant  parlor? 

So  far  from  its  being  necessary  to  be  always  ready 
for  company,  it  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  housekeeping 
to  prepare  for  company.  Sweeping  and  dusting  are 
but  dull  drudgery  when  cleanliness  is  the  only  object; 
but  how  pleasant  it  is  to  "  tidy"  the  rooms  when  a  house 
ful  of  quests  are  coming  at  the  end  of  it!  There  is  an 


262  .     TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

incentive  worthy  of  toil— that  transmutes  toil  into  de 
light.  But  suppose  you  have  been  ill,  or  the  children 
have  had  scarlet  fever,  or  Norah  is  gone,  and  there  is  a 
chance  for  a  visit  from  a  friend.  Must  you  send  her 
away?  Yes,  if  you  absolutely  can  not  undertake  the 
slight  addition  to  your  work  which  her  visit  necessi 
tates.  But  remember  her  visit  does  not  necessitate  that 
you  should  go  through  house-cleaning  previous  to  her 
appearance.  Suppose  the  doors  are  finger-marked,  and 
the  windows  not  faultlessly  clean,  and  the  guest-cham 
ber  has  not  been  swept  for  a  month,  the  doors  will  open, 
and  the  windows  will  let  in  fresh  air,  and  you  and  your 
friend  can  get  immense  draughts  of  satisfaction  out  of 
the  visit,  though  things  are  not  as  you  would  so  glad 
ly  have  them,  if  you  will  only  not  fret  about  them,  but 
consign  them  to  the  insignificance  they  merit.  We  are 
afraid  of  each  other,  forgetting  that  our  friends  have 
the  same  kind  of  experiences  that  we  have.  The  most 
thorough  of  housekeepers  is  sometimes  forced  to  "let 
things  go,"  unless  she  sacrifices  something  of  more  im 
portance  than  "-things."  Serena  is  distressed  because 
the  afternoon  sun  reveals  to  her  responsible  eyes  a  little 
dust  under  the  sofa.  Bat  Celestia  is  equally  distressed 
because  her  student-lamp  suddenly  goes  out  during 
Serena's  even-ing  call.  Why  should  not  both  comfort 
themselves  with  the  reflection  that  nothing  has  hap 
pened  unto  them  but  such  as  is  common  unto  women, 
and  dismiss  their  apprehensions?  I  know  a  man  who 
cnme  near  bleeding  to  death  because  there  was  not  a 
cobweb  to  be  found  in  house  or  barn  to  stanch  the 
blood.  Be  advised,  dear  house  mother,  and  do  not  lose 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AXD  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.         263 

all  the  freshness  and  impulse  to  be  found  in  your  friend's 
visit  because  you  have  no  time  to  go  through  the  house 
with  your  broom  upside  down. 

Here  is  -where  comes  in  that  much  belabored  institu 
tion,  the  Best  Room.  What  vials  of  sarcasm  have  been 
poured  out  upon  it!  Its  closed  shutters  have  cast  a 
<2'loom  over  the  pathways  of  literature.  Its  mustv 

W  *      .  •      V  v 

smells  have  penetrated  the  corners  of  remote  novels. 
Its  covered  chairs  have  stiffened  in  smart  essays.  Men 
easily  influenced  by  public  opinion  have  sought  to  avert 
the  shafts  of  satire  by  building  themselves  ceiled  houses 
without  any  "spare  room" — houses  whose  every  apart 
ment  should  be  occupied.  But  women,  with  a  stronger 
instinct  of  the  fitness  of  things,  cling  to  the  "best  room," 
the  "sp;ire  room,"  the  parlor,  and  have  hitherto  made  a 
good  fight. 

And  the  women  are  right.  The  best  room  is  often 
absurd,  but  a  best  room  is  not  an  absurdity.  It  is  ap 
palling  to  be  shown  into  a  square  apartment,  with  heav}', 
chill  air,  with  a  horse-hair  sofa,  a  horse-hair  arm-chair, 
and  six  horse-hair  plain  chairs — only  this  and  nothing 
more.  But  because  a  black  silk  gown  is  ill  fitting  you 
do  not  therefore  discard  black  silk  gowns.  The  spare 
room  may  have  a  straw  matting,  if  you  please,  and  cane 
chairs,  and  blinds  open  or  closed,  according  to  the  light 
and  heat,  but  every  housekeeper  knows  that,  after  all 
the  essays  are  written  and  all  the  arrows  shot,  a  spare 
room  is  a  great  convenience,  a  great  resource,  a  great 
peace  of  mind. 

But  it  is  inhospitable,  says  the  visitor.  You  do  not 
wish  to  be  turned  off  by  yourself  into  a  room  outside 


284:  TWELVE  MILES  FJIOX  A  LEXOX. 

of  the  family  life,  destitute  of  associations,  prim,  orderly, 
decorous,  but  silent  and  inexpressive.  You  want  to  go 
in  where  the  sewing  and  reading  and  talking  are,  and 
see  your  friend  in  her  every-day  garb.  That  may  be; 
but  suppose  your  friend  prefers  not  to  be  thus  seen? 
You  will  admit  that  the  family  is  sacred.  Not  every 
one  who  is  welcome  in  the  parlor  could  be  welcome  in 
the  family  room.  Nor  is  the  welcome  to  the  family 
room  at  all  times  one  and  the  same.  Absolute  freedom 
to  repel  is  the  only  guarantee  of  warmth  in  welcome. 
If  a  house  have  no  room  set  off  for  visitors,  there  is  no 
special  gratification  in  being  admitted  to  its  family  room. 
Nor  is  that  home  sentiment  very  desirable  which  does 
not  instinctively  make  a  distinction  between  its  own 
and  the  outside  world,  however  amiable  and  friendly 
may  be  its  relations  therewith.  That  family  is,  indeed, 
doing  its  work  best — all  other  things  corresponding — 
which  jealously  guards  itself  from  an  indiscriminate 
open  communion. 

There  are  scenes  of  leisure,  chitchat,  light  reading, 
upon  which  the  entrance  of  a  friend  would  be  no  intru 
sion.  But  when  you  are  in  eager  consultation  over  the 
grny  cashmere — will  it  turn  for  Anne?  will  it  dye  with 
out  cockling?  is  there  enough  for  a  whole  suit,  or  shall 
the  brown  go  with  it,  and  make  a  suit  of  two  shades  for 
Anne,  and  perhaps  a  polonaise  for  Ella? — and  the  ruf 
fles  are  on  one  chair  and  the  over-skirt  on  another,  and 
there  is  a  universal  ripping  and  rippling,  it  is  then  a 
solid  satisfaction  to  reflect  that  there  is  a  room  across 
the  hall  which  tells  no  tales.  It  is  not  a  false  shame, 
a  foolish  pride  in  keeping  up  appearances,  that  makes 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AX1>  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.         265 

you  dislike  having  Mrs.  A  and  Mrs.  B  and  Mrs.  C  walk 
in  upon  your  turnings  and  matcliings  and  contrivings. 
It  is  a  spontaneous  modesty,  a  natural  reticence,  which 
prompts  always  to  the  suppression  of  processes  and  the 
exhibition  only  of  results.  When,  afterward,  Mrs.  A 
praises  Anne's  new  suit,  you  tell  her,  not  only  without 
shame,  but  with  rejoicing,  how  ingeniously  it  was  fash 
ioned  out  of  the  several  birds  in  last  years  nest;  but 
during  the  fashioning  Mrs.  A's  presence  would  have  dis 
turbed  and  hindered  you.  A  great  deal  of  house-work 
is  helped  on  by  the  knowledge  that  there  is  a  room  in 
the  house  where  that  work  does  not  go,  and  to  which 
the  mistress  may  repair,  leaving  all  her  state  secrets 
behind  her.  So  far  from  the  parlor  being  an  incum- 
brance,  an  excrescence,  it  is  n.  relief,  a  safety-valve.  Let 
us  bow  down  to  Eastlake  in  sincerity  and  truth ;  but  to 
arrange  our  houses  on  the  pretense  that  our  friends  are 
at  all  times  and  in  all  parts  of  them  equally  welcome  is, 
or  ought  to  be,  a  greater  sham  than  all  the  veneering 
we  can  put  iijto  the  parlor.  Because  I  treat  my  friend 
to-day  to  roast  turkey  and  plum-pudding,  do  I  mean  to 
insinuate  to  him  that  this  is  my  every-day  fare,  or  blush 
to  own  that  yesterday  I  dined  off  hash  and  hasty-pud 
ding?  Nay,  rather,  I  exultantly  propound  to  him  that 
inexorable  law  of  succession  by  which  chopped  beef  is 
the  inevitable  and  not  unwelcome  follower  of  roast. 
But  none  the  less  I  rejoice  to  do  him  honor  and  my  fam 
ily  a  pleasance  by  ministering  to  him  a  feast  of  fatter 
things.  It  is  trouble  and  expense,  but  we  love  trouble 
and  expense  when  they  express  affection  and  friendship. 
It  is  not  simply  that  my  family  feast  in  his  cause — it  is 

12 


286  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

also  tli.it  be  graces  and  gilds  my  family  feast.  The 
turkey  may  be  in  his  honor,  but  it  is  he  that  gives  the 
turkey  its  chief  charm  for  us. 

In  discussing  household  art  \ve  are  too  apt  to  forget 
the  household  artist.  Many  beautiful  and  desirable 
things  the  busy  wife  and  mother  must  forego.  She 
loves  her  translucent,  vivid  china,  but  better  loves  the 
dimpled  fingers  that  do  not  know  how  to  hold  it;  and 
rather  than  banish  them  from  the  table  she  exiles  the 
china  to  its  dark  closet  and  condescends  to  plainer  ware. 
But  the  knowledge  that  her  closet  holds  that  treasure 
is  a  joy  not  to  be  despised,  and  when  she  spreads  it 
upon  her  table  at  a  friend's  coming,  and  the  children 
gaze  upon  it  with  solemn  admiration,  will  you  rebuke 
her  for  display  instead  of  honesty  ?  To  many  a  woman 
her  parlor  is  her  poem.  The  living-room  must  be  plain 
and  unadorned,  both  out  of  regard  to  her  purse  and  to 
the  careless  fists  and  feet,  the  innumerable  balls  and 
tops  and  jackknives,  that  keep  up  a  constant  guerrilla 
warfare  upon  polish  and  fragility.  But  this  parlor,  of 
which  the  children  do  not  have  the  run,  is  the  hunting- 
ground  of  her  fancies.  Here  her  delight  in  color  and 
form  may  take  shape.  Whatever  of  delicate,  of  beau 
tiful,  of  harmonious,  of  antique,  of  grotesque,  or  fantas 
tic  pleases  her  taste  she  may  gather  or  fashion  here, 
safe  from  the  incursions  of  her  young  barbarians,  all  at 
play  elsewhere.  Even  if  she  only  opens  her  grand  room 
on  high,  days,  the  sun  and  air  can  speedily  identify  it 
with  the  universe;  and  her  children  are  not  harmed  by 
having  one  spot  barred  to  their  license.  And  while  it 
is  the  outlet  for  her  otherwise  necessarily  repressed  in- 


SOCIAL  FORMULA  AXD  SOCIAL  FREEDOM.         267 

cl illations,  it  is  the  arena  of  her  friendships  —  a  link 
whereby  she  keeps  pleasant  hold  of  the  outside  world. 
Why,  O  purblind  man  !  will  you  insist  on  finding  only 
ostentation  and  convention  and  Mrs.  Grundy  where  a 
wiser  and  deeper  gaze  might  reveal  sympathies  and  as 
pirations  and  all  gracious  sensibilities? 


268  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 


XV. 
THE  FASHIONS. 

HAS  any  great  philosopher,  any  original  thinker,  ever 
said  that  no  man  is  so  wise  as  all  men  ?  If  not,  I  will 
say  it  myself  rather  than,  it  should  go  unsaid.  The 
fools  may  be,  as  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague  affirm 
ed,  three  out  of  four  in  every  person's  acquaintance; 
the  multitude  seems  sometimes  to  go  blindly  and  per 
sistently  in  the  wrong  track ;  nevertheless  the  average 
common  sense  of  the  world  is  immense.  The  course  of 
the  people  is  wildly  zigzag,  yet  a  line  following  their 
general  direction  probably  comes  nearer  the  right  line 
of  advance  than  any  line  which  the  wisest  philosopher 
could  mark  out. 

Loud  and  deep  are  the  maledictions  uttered  upon  the 
fashions.  Virtuous  women  denounce  them  by  the  fire 
side.  Virtuous  men  rail  at  them  from  pulpit  and  print 
ing-press.  The  extravagance,  the  bankruptcy,  the  do 
mestic  dissensions,  a  great  part  of  the  misery  that  mars 
the  beauty  and  disturbs  the  peace  of  society,  are  laid  at 
the  door  of  fashion.  But  what  is  fashion  ?  It  is  simply 
the  common  way  of  doing  things.  Things  must  be  done. 
We  all  agree  to  that.  The  human  animal  was  not  sent 
furred  or  hairy  into  the  world.  It  must  dress  itself.  In 
this  climate  it  must  dress  itself  a  good  deal.  The  bear 
and  the  beaver  have  no  opportunity  of  setting  or  follow 
ing  the  fashions.  They  go  in  a  fore-ordained  groove. 


THE  FASHIONS.  269 

The  duck's  neck  and  the  peacock's  tail  are  wonderful 
specimens  of  splendor  in  attire,  but  neither  duck  nor 
peacock  has  any  hand  in,  the  matter.  To  man  alone 
is  given  the  high  art  of  using  taste,  judgment,  genius, 
in  his  clothes.  And  high  art  it  is,  in  spite  of  all  our 
denunciations. 

Man  and  his  Maker  are  the  formers  of  all  the  fashions 
of  the  world.  Man  devises  his  own  dress.  The  Creator 
devises  the  dress  of  all  the  beasts  of  the  field,  the  birds 
of  the  air,  the  fish  of  the  sea.  If  we  are  to  be  taught  by 
example,  there  need  be  inherently  no  limit  to  variety 
and  splendor  of  costume.  So  far  as  usefulness  is  con 
cerned,. all  the  birds  might  just  as  well  be  gray.  Does 
a  fish  taste  any  better  because  his  scales  shimmer  like 
opal  in  the  sunshine?  Man  may  wreak  himself  on  in 
vention,  but  he  can  never  hope  to  surpass  the  splendor 
of  the  beetle  and  the  butterfly.  Why  is  the  cut  of  a 
coat,  the  tint  of  a  gown,  unworthy  of  the  human  mind, 
when  the  Creator  has  so  clothed  the  grass  of  the  field 
which  to-day  is  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  oven  ? 
A  woman  trims  her  hat,  but  God  made  the  feather.  If 
the  Almighty  and  All-knowing  could  find  His  good 
pleasure  in  spreading  the  blue  of  the  heavens  and  the 
green  of  the  meadows — if  He  enjoyed  strewing  the  eartli 
with  blossoms,  and  filling  these  autumn  woods  with  ev 
ery  fantasy  of  color  and  brilliance,  shall  we  disdain  to 
follow  Him  with  unequal  steps,  and  weave  His  textures 
and  mingle  His  hues  for  the  adornment  of  what  He  has 
chosen  to  be  the  perfect  flower  of  His  world,  the  crown 
of  His  creation — man,  little  lower  than  the  angels? 

Dressing  is  not  a  mere  whim,  arbitrary,  superficial, 


270  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

frivolous.  Frivolous  men  and  women  will  develop  and 
display  their  frivolity  in  dress  as  in  all  other  matters; 
but  the  fashion  of  dress  is  founded  on  deep  principles, 
shaded  by  delicate  distinctions,  fruitful  of  great  results. 
It  is  not  simply  that  the  sorrow  of  France  drapes  all  the 
world  in  dun ;  but  climate,  vigor,  nationality,  progress, 
droop  the  folds  or  tighten  the  wraps,  blend  or  blazon 
the  colors.  Dress  is,  indeed,  so  important,  so  vital  a 
matter,  that  it  has  been  thought  dangerous  for  one  na 
tionality,  though  never  so  superior,  to  tamper  with  the 
costume  of  another,  however  inferior.  Mr.  Charles 
NordhofF,  an  outgrowth  of  the  highest  civilization  of 
New  York,  thinks  that  "  the  deleterious  habit  of  wearing 
clothes  has  done  much  to  kill  off  the  Hawaiian  people." 
Our  missionaries,  good  and  great  men  as  they  were,  had 
not  sufficiently  studied  fashion.  They  probably  thought, 
as  most  of  us  think,  that  "fashion  "  is  the  device  of  some 
"scarlet  woman" — some  emanation  from  the  Evil  One 
that  lies  in  wait  to  devour — and  never  considered  that 
in  their  own  black  coats  and  white  chokers  they  were 
as  rigidly  following  the  fashions  as  the  most  gayly 
dressed  lady  at  the  midnight  ball.  They  did  not  con 
sider  that  "fashion,"  prescribing  its  scantiness  and  sim 
plicity  to  the  Hawaiian,  had  its  foundation  in  the  require 
ments  of  soil  and  climate,  or  was  any  thing  but  barba 
rian,  and  to  be  supplanted  at  the  earliest  possible  mo 
ment  by  the  hat  and  coat  and  trowsers,  the  shoes  and 
bonnet  and  gown,  of  New  England's  rigorous  skies. 

There  is  something  almost  awful  in  the  revolutions 
of  the  fashions.  Periodicity  is  of  itself  nn'sterious. 
Why  does  one  winter's  pneumonia  repeat  itself  the 


THE  FASHIONS.  271 

next  winter?  Why  do  the  chills  and  fever  shake  you 
and  burn  you  every  twenty-one  days?  Why  do  the 
canker-worms  bury  themselves  on  the  tenth  of  June, 
and  the  cattle  go  to  pasture  on  the  twentieth  of  May? 
Why  should  the  hoops  that  moved  Addison's  ridicule 
rise  and  round  and  vanish  in  our  own  day  ?  What 
wonderful  working  of  the  inner  world  brings  up  again 
the  Josephine  waist,  the  Pompadour  hair,  the  Grecian 
skirt?  It  is  not  the  whim  or  the  caprice  of  one  man 
or  woman  any  more  than  is  the  birth  and  death  of  a 
language,  the  creation  and  adoption  of  a  word  or  a  song. 
Eugenie  in  Paris  could  friz  the  forehead  of  Christen- 

O 

clom,  but  Eugenie  at  Chiselhurst  has  no  more  power 
than  the  Tuilerics  can  give  to  Madame  Thiers. 

A  little  while  ago  a  lady  presented  herself  in  the 
house  of  a  friend,  dressed  in  a  gown  just  thirty  years 
old.  The  corsage  was  pointed  in  front,  full  of  close 
gathers  at  the  point  and  loose  gathers  on  the  shoulders, 
open  behind.  The  skirt  was  straight  and  full,  without 
gore  or  over-skirt.  The  sleeves  would  pass  very  well 
for  modern  flowing  sleeves,  and  the  muslin  under-sleevos 
were  sufficiently  fashionable  to  escape  observation.  At 
the  time  when  that  dress  was  made  mothers  used  to  en 
tertain  their  daughters  with  accounts  of  the  narrow 
gored  skirts  which  they  wore  in  their  youthful  days. 
When  those  daughters  grew  up  they  wore  skirts  gored 
and  narrow  as  their  mothers  had  done  before  them. 

Why  do  the  revolving  years  thus  put  down  one  and 
bring  up  another?  Or  would  it  be  better  that  we  should 
have  either  the  one  or  the  other  constantly?  Is  there 
intrinsic  advantage  in  either?  To  my  eye  the  gored 


272  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEJfOX. 

narrow  umler-skirt  with  the  short  draped  over-skirt  is 
prettier  than  the  plain  full  skirt;  but  if  next  year  the 
over-skirt  should  disappear,  and  women  go  back  to  sin 
gle  blessedness,  no  doubt  the  lovely  forms  of  wearers 
and  the  nimble  fingers  of  seamstresses  would  give  it  the 
grace  and  beauty  which  seem  to  inhere  in  the  present 
style. 

It  is  not  whether  you  shall  or  shall  not  follow  the 
fashion ;  it  is  what  fashion  and  whose  fashion  shall  you 
follow.  It  is  whether  you  shall  follow  nnintelligently 
or  intelligently,  moderately  or  extravagantly.  Mr. 
NordhofT's  party  came  across  a  man  at  work  in  very 
scanty  attire.  Out  of  respect  to  his  visitors,  the  man, 
after  receiving  them,  slipped  into  the  bush,  and  re-ap 
peared  clad  in  hat  and  shirt,  confidently  believing,  no 
doubt,  that  he  had  thus  approved  himself  a  e^smopoli- 
tan.  But  in  rejecting  Hawaiian  attire  he  had  not  be 
come  wholly  American,  and  while  the  first  mny  have 
been  somewhat  startling,  the  second  was  ridiculous  into 
the  bargain.  And  when  to  this  you  add  that  the  gen 
tle  and  gracious  Hawaiians  are  dying  out  at  the  rate  of 
sixty  per  cent,  in  forty  years,  and  partly,  at  least,  under 
the  weight  of  their  clothing  and  in  the  heavy  shade  of 
their  close  houses,  it  is  surely  time  to  pause  and  consid 
er  whether  fashion,  in  Hawaii  and  elsewhere,  may  not 
have  its  own  sufficient  reasons  for  being. 

"If  life  and  death  are  the  same,  why  do  you  not  kill 
yourself?"  asked  a  rash  man  of  a  Stoic. 

"  Because  they  are  the  same,"  replied  the  Stoic. 

Fashion  is  of  no  account;  why  should  we  follow  it? 

But  if  it  is  of  no  account  \ve  may  just  as  well  follow 


THE  FASHIONS,  273 

it  as  frown  on  it.  A  woman — and  a  man  too — must 
be  dressed.  Why  not,  then,  dress  like  other  people? 
Why  not  dress  like  the  people  who  are  alive  and  will 
make  remarks,  rather  than  like  the  people  who  are  dead 
and  tell  no  tales?  It  is  certainly  pleasanter  to  be  in 
conspicuous  than  conspicuous.  We  do  not  begrudge 
the  toga  to  the  Romans,  but  Cicero  himself  would  not 
like  to  dine  in  it  where  every  one  else  wore  his  dress- 
coat.  Truth  and  loyalty  are  due  to  the  absent ;  polite 
ness  should  be  paid  to  the  present.  A  girl  should  stand 
up  for  her  grandmother  against  all  comers,  but  no  in 
terpretation  of  the  fifth  commandment  makes  it  incum 
bent  upon  her  to  wear  the  "calash"  which  sheltered 
that  good  lady  from  the  sun  during  her  earthly  pil 
grimage. 

AVhen  we  see  Nilsson  and  Kellogg  acting  Margaret 
in  simplest,  finest  muslin  or  crape,  whose  white  folds 
fall  and  sweep  with  statuesque  grace,  we  are  charmed 
with  the  garb,  and  would  fain  dispense  with  paniers  and 
rufflings  and  doublings.  But  presently  a  lady  appears 
in  the  drawing-room  splendid  with  sheen  of  satin,  the 
fairy  frost-work  of  lace,  the  white  repose  of  pearls,  or 
the  dazzle  of  diamonds;  the  little  country  girl  flits 
among  her  flowers,  fresh  as  the}7,  with  the  morning  red 
upon  her  cheeks,  the  heaven's  blue  in  her  eyes,  and  ev 
ery  seam  of  her  cambric  gown  and  every  puff  of  her 
fluttering  ribbons  modeled  upon  the  last  fashion  plate, 
and  at  once  the  ancients  go  down  before  the  moderns. 
The  flowing  lines  of  crape  and  muslin,  you  say,  may 
answer  for  the  stage — may  have  answered  well  for  Hel 
en,  with  a  maiden  to  every  fold,  for  Aspasia  entrancing 

12* 


274  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

the  youths  and  the  philosophers  of  Athens;  but  they 
would  fare  but  hardly  in  the  scrimmage  of  modern  life- 
in  the  daylight  of  gardens,  or  the  glitter  of  evening 
splendors. 

We  can  hardly  find  words  strong  enough  to  express 
our  disapprobation  of  the  cramping  bodies  of  modern 
dress.  Our  ladies  would  be  disgusted,  says  the  fashion 
denouncer,  to  see  their  Venus,  their  Psyche,  their  Cly  tie, 
tricked  out  in  nineteenth -century  corsage.  But  no 
more,  I  imagine,  than  would  the  critics  to  see  the  nine 
teenth-century  ladies  dressed  in  Venus's  array.  Clytie's 
mantua- making  is  perfectly  hygienic,  but  her  loose 
robe, 

"Slipping  down,  leaves  bare 
Her  bright  breast,  shortening  into  sighs." 

Yet  Clytie  followed  the  fashions  of  her  day  and  sinned 
not,  and  Anna  Maria  follows  the  fashions  of  her  day, 
"close-buttoned  to  the  chin,"  with  equal  innocence. 
If  the  close  waist  fits  well,  it  is  a  healthful  waist.  It 
may  be  clumsy  and  uncomfortable,  pinching  here  and 
bagging  there,  and  then  it  is  a  trial  to  health  and  tem 
per.  But  the  master  of  arts  among  dress-makers  knows 
that  a  dress  too  tight  is  a  misfit;  that  to  be  perfect  it 
must  be  comfortable.  The  really  elegant  dress  admits 
full  play  of  all  the  muscles  that  a  woman  has  any  oc 
casion  to  use  while  she  is  wearing  it.  And  surely  the 
American  woman  of  our  age  would  be  no  better  equip 
ped  for  her  work  by  adopting  the  costume  of  Helen. 

It  is  to  be  said,  moreover,  that  in  our  day  fashion  is 
to  the  last  degree  accommodating.  If  one  has  consti 
tutional  objections  to  the  plain  waist,  the  polonaise  is 


THE  FASHIONS.  275 

reachr,  with  every  degree  of  fullness.  If  corsets  are  re 
pugnant,  they  can  be  dispensed  \vitb,  and  no  one  be  the 
wiser  but  the  dispenser.  If  skirts  are  too  long,  what 
doth  hinder  that  they  be  shortened  ?  If  they  ought  to 
hang  from  the  shoulders,  go  hang  them.  None  of  these 
things  move  the  world  from  its  equipoise.  One  can  ac 
complish  them  all,  and  yet  live  and  move  and  have  her 
being  without  rebuke — nay,  even  without  notice  from 
fashion. 

Some  of  our  prophets  predict  a  return  to  the  sandal' 
of  antiquity;  and  if  fashion  were  a  matter  of  will,  we 
might  perhaps  advocate'  the  change.  If  sandals  could 
be  so  arranged  as  to  keep  the  feet  warm  and  dry  in 
winter,  they  would  be  cool  and  charming  in  summer, 
and  neat  and  pleasant  all  the  year  round  to  the  foot, 
which  they  would  protect  without  confining.  But  our 
various  little  side  issues  of  foot-drawings  and  broad 
soles  avail  but  little.  In  shoes  as  in  gowns  neither  the 
large  nor  the  small  has  any  advantage;  but  the  shoe 
that  fits  you  is  the  right  shoe.  You  make  much  ado 
with  models  and  measurements,  and  after  weeks  of 
waiting  are  put  to  pedal  torture.  You  step  into  the 
next  shoe  shop,  and  in  ten  minutes  are  shod  with  sup 
pleness  and  strength. 

It  is  a  most  wise  and  benign  arrangement  of  Provi 
dence  that  we  can  follow  the  fashions,  and  are  not  forced 
to  lead  them — even  our  own.  Here  and  there  rises  a 
sovereign  of  style  who  by  some  inward  genius  seizes, 
combines,  produces,  creates  —  the  artist  of  costuming. 
The  rest  of  us,  the  common  herd,  copy  with  what  close 
ness  we  may,  in  such  fabrics  as  we  can  command.  Of 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

ourselves  we  have  no  originating  power.  Left  to  our 
selves,  we  should  be  in  sorry  pligbt.  Yet  we  recognize 
beauty  when  it  is  presented  to  us.  We  detect  harmo 
ny;  we  shun  discord  and  glare  and  violence.  To  de 
sign  our  own  costume  would  exhaust  our  ingenuity 
without  satisfaction.  To  follow  our  leaders  is  half  a 
pastime.  We  have  the  pleasure  of  selection  with  the 
minimum  of  fatigue,  and  the  great  bulk  of  time  left  for 
other  and  more  strenuous  occupations.  After  a  day's 
shopping  or  an  hour  under  the  dress-maker's  hand,  a 
woman  bemoans  herself  for  her  Paradise  Lost;  yet  it 
is  really  surprising  to  see  how  short  is  the  time  which 
she  \sforced  to  spend  on  clothes  in  order  to  be  very 
well  dressed.  Could  Charles  Sumner  deliver  orations 
in  a  sash,  or  Mr.  Longfellow  write  poetry  in  paniers? 
Certainly  not.  Nor  would  Mrs.  Stowe  have  better 
moulded  Uncle  Torn  in  coat  tails,  or  Mrs.  Browning 
sung  in  trowsers.  Suum  cuique.  A  woman  spends 
hours  in  embroidering  a  gown,  when  she  might  have 
learned  a  language  or  saved  a  soul.  True;  but  there 

O          O 

are  times  when  she  does  not  feel  like  either  learning  a 
language  or  saving  a  soul.  Then  the  growth  of  silken 
leaves  and  buds  under  the  busy  fingers  is  no  task,  but 
a  solace.  I  know  a  woman  who 

"Can  speak  Greek 
As  naturally  as  pigs  squeak  ; 
To  whom  Latin  is  no  more  difficile 
Than  to  a  blackbird  'tis  to  whistle;" 

who  dreams  in  German  and  thinks  in  French,  and  when 
it  comes  to  soul-savins;  is  a  savor  of  life  unto  life— who 


THE  FASHIOXS.  277 

yet  embroiders  her  own  cnpes  and  gowns  and  those  of 
her  friends. 

There  are  follies  and  whimsies  in  fashion.  There  is 
opportunity  for  individual  taste  and  choice.  Neverthe 
less,  the  wisest  thing  for  people  in  general  to  do  is  to 
follow  the  fashion  that  prevails.  It  is  only  in  excep 
tional  cases  that  they  will  obtain  a  larger  result  of  sat 
isfaction  at  a  less  outlay  of  trouble  by  setting  up  their 
own  standard.  Dress  is  too  important  to  be  denounced, 
too  significant  to  be  neglected,  but  too  pliable  to  found 
a  fight  on ! 

What  we  want  is  strong-minded  and  large-natured 
women  .who  will  not  be  the  slave  of  dress,  or  of  reform, 
or  of  any  one  idea;  who  will  understand  the  philoso 
phy  and  recognize  the  beauty  and  adopt  the  necessi 
ties  of  dress  without  straining  its  possibilities;  who  will 
neither  dwarf  nor  magnify  its  importance,  but  will  know 
how  to  follow  fashion  with  moderation  and  discrimina 
tion,  to  lead  it  with  beneficence,  and  make  it  in  all 
things  a  minister  of  grace.  If  the  woman  is  subordi 
nate  to  the  dress,  it  is  not  the  fault  of  the  dress,  but  of 
the  woman. 

Alas!  that  not  only  a  servile  but  a  dignified  follow 
ing  of  the  fashion  imposes  the  disagreeable  duty  of  fol 
lowing  them  into  the  shops!  It  is  not  simply  for  their 
exemption  from  toiling  and  spinning  that  we  envy  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  but  that  they  should  be  arrayed  more 
magnificently  than  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  and  not 
even  have  to  go  up  to  town  to  buy  material ! 

Shopping  would  be  divested  of  half  its  horrors  if  drv- 
goods  clerks  would  be  kind.  Is  it  too  much  to  ask? 


278  TWELVE  MILES  FAOM  A   LEJIOX. 

They  liavc  all  the  advantage  of  situation.  The;/  are 
familiar  with  the  locality.  They  know  exactly  where 
the  black  silks  are  to  be  found,  what  is  the  lurking- 
place  of  the  sheetings,  what  corner  is  haunted  by  the 
hosiery.  The  quality,  the  price,  the  style  of  goods — 
they  have  it  all  at  their  fingers'  ends.  They  are  barri 
caded  by  the  counters  and  supported  by  ranks  of  ac 
quaintances.  You,  constitutionally  timid,  full  of  mis 
giving  concerning  your  own  skill  and  taste,  with  but  a 
vague  idea  of  what  you  ought  to  want,  enter  a  palace 
of  splendor  and  confusion,  to  encounter,  single-handed, 
these  veterans  of  the  yard-stick.  If  they  are  civil, 
friendly,  re-assuring,  it  is  as  much  as  you  can  do  to  keep 
your  wits  well  in  hand,  and  choose  from  the  distracting 
variety  the  one  little  supply  that  you  demand.  If  they 
are  insolent,  curt,  indifferent,  what  remains  but  retreat? 
There  are  different  species  of  objectionable  clerks. 
One  is  voluble,  familiar,  and  altogether  abominable. 
You  never  willingly  approach  him,  but,  accosting  him 
unawares,  you  feel  as  if  you  were  instinctively  and  con 
stantly  holding  him  by  a  tight  rein  to  keep  him  from 
open  impertinence,  and  not  always  successfully.  To 
the  severest  simplicity  of  address  he  will  sometimes  re 
spond  rudety.  In  novels,  ladies  are  majestic,  impress 
ive,  all-powerful.  They  repress  manifestations  of  ill- 
breeding  in  others  by  the  overpowering  grandeur  of 
their  own  ladyhood.  But  in  real  life  real  ladies  arc 
quite  as  likely  to  be  modest,  shrinking,  easily  subdued 
by  brutality,  and  capable  of  offering  to  aggression  no 
resistance  but  flight.  Such  swiftly  succumb  to  the  bold 
and  blatant  clerk — succumb  by  flying,  not  buying. 


THE  FASHIONS.  279 

There  is  the  teasing  clerk,  who  leaves  you  no  quiet  for 
reflection  and  no  space  for  comparison,  but  imagines 
the  way  to  secure  your  custom  is  to  urge  you  without 
intermission.  There  is  the  indifferent  clerk,  who  says 
he  has  not  the  goods  you  want  before  you  know  your 
self  what  you  do  want;  who  throws  the  parcel  down 
on  the  counter  as  if  it  were  to  take  or  to  leave,  but 
manifests  not  the  slightest  interest  in  ascertaining  your 
wish  or  accommodating  or  assisting  you.  There  is  the 
snapping -turtle  clerk,  who  brings  you  to  the  point, 
re-adjusts  your  somewhat  incoherent  question,  and  an 
swers  you  with  a  quick,  impatient  directness  that  quite 
humiliates  you.  Him,  though  some  condemn  unmeas- 
u redly,  I  can  tolerate.  Honest  human  petulance,  born 
of  fatigue,  is  the  least  unpardonable  of  mercantile  ill 
manners.  Consider  that  the  man  has  been  the  target 
for  all  sorts  of  questions,  wise  and  foolish,  through  long 
hours.  If  we  had  been  in  his  place,  doubtless  by  this 
time  we  should  greet  an  angel  with  a  growl.  But  re 
member  thJs,  O  long-suffering  dry-goods  man !  you 
have  made  your  bed,  and  you  must  lie  in  it.  You  are 
tied  by  the  tape-measure  of  your  own  free-will.  It  is 
your  business  to  answer  questions.  You  are  paid  to 
display  goods.  Doubtless  there  may  often  be  before 
the  counter  stupidity,  selfishness,  unreasonableness,  lack 
of  principle;  but  these  do  not  justify  or  excuse  the 
display  of  such  traits  behind  the  counter.  Still  less 
do  they  excuse  their  outlay  upon  the  modest,  the  mod 
erate,  the  upright.  When  clerks  have  been  teased  by 
women  who  do  not  examine  gqods  with  frank  intent, 
but  simply  to  idle  away  a  superfluous  hour,  to  gratify 


280  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

a  morbid  and  frivolous  taste,  to  bear  off  surreptitiously 
some  imported  idea  for  domestic  manufacture,  it  is  not 
absolutely  unnatural  or  impossible  that  they  should  be 
betrayed  into  irritation ;  but  it  is  unbusi ness-like  and 
unwise.  They  will  never  thus  repress  the  idle  or  the 
curious,  but  they  will  often  offend  the  unoffending. 
Let  them  remember  that  the  shopping  as  well  as  the 
selling  world  is  a  much-tried  and  long-suffering  world. 
Does  the  woman,  under  pretense  of  buying  a  gown, 
merely  take  note  of  its  style  that  she  may  make  her 
own  flounces  after  the  same  pattern  ?  Be  not  too  harsh 
upon  her,  outraged  dry-goods  clerk,  who  will  have  no 
percentage  from  your  sales  to  her.  Doubtless  she 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  buy  your  robes  outright,  but 
her  husband  can  not  or  will  not  furnish  the  means, 
and  she  is  forced  to  use  her  own  fingers.  Do  not  be 
grudge  her  the  small  help  of  your  lay  figure.  It  would 
be,  indeed,  far  better  that  she  should  be  honest  and 
frank,  and  express  her  intention,  not  attempt  to  carry 
it  out  by  deceit.  Probably  no  one  ever  asked  permis 
sion  to  examine  goods  without  receiving  a  courteous 
and  prompt  assent.  But  the  poor  thing  is  not  unused 
to  brutality,  and  has  unhappily  learned  too  much  indi 
rection.  You,  dry-goods  clerk,  are  young  and  strong, 
and  a  man.  Do  you,  by  kindness  and  helpfulness,  fur 
ther  her  aims,  and  so  win  her  over  to  confidence,  ease, 
and  outrightness,  not  repel,  frighten,  and  wound  her  by 
your  demeanor. 

By  far  tho  great  majority  of  women  shop  honestly. 
They  go  to  many  places,  they  overturn  many  goods, 
they  postpone  and  hesitate ;  but  they  have  a  serious 


THE  FASHION'S*  281 

object  in  view.  One  little  ingrain  carpet  does  not 
amount  to  much.  In  a  great  warehouse  piled  with  the 
wealth  of  the  loom  it  seems  ridiculously  small,  and  the 
clerk  naturally  wishes  my  lady  would  buy  her  strip 
and  be  done  with  it.  Softly,  magnificent  sir!  The 
poor  little  ingrain  will  lie  before  her  eyes  for  many  a 
year.  Her  husband's  tastes  are  to  be  consulted.  Her 
purse  is  of  cast-iron.  Her  children  are  to  grow  up  on 
that  carpet,  and  learn  from  it  color  and  contour.  Will  it 
harmonize  with  the  paper  and  the  chintz  lounge  ?  AYill 
it  fade  prettilj*,  and  will  it  cut  over  well  into  a  bedroom 
carpet  when  its  race  is  run  in  the  sitting-room?  To 
the  purchaser  the  cheap  ingrain  is  a  more  momentous 
matter  than  the  costly  Moquette,  for  it  must  last  longer 
and  be  more  looked  at:  so  let  her  hesitate  and  compare 
nnd  reflect  without  impertinent  haste,  urgency,  or  impa 
tience  from  you.  And  even  if  she  makes  up  her  mind 
to  nothing,  and  leaves  the  carpet  on  your  hands,  let  her 
not  be  condemned  for  insincerity  or  vacillation.  The 
probability  is  that  she  knows  her  own  business  a  great 
deal  better  than  you  do,  and  the  doubts  she  expresses 
are  but  feeble  representatives  of  the  doubts  she  feels. 
Moreover,  if  she  does  not  buy  the  carpet  now,  be  you 
sympathetic,  obliging,  patient  with  all  questioning  and 
objections,  and  very  likely  in  three  or  four  weeks  she 
will  come  back  to  you  and  buy  one  twice  as  good ! 

There  is  a  prevailing  faith  in  the  country  districts 
that  the  urban  dry-goods  clerk  is  a  being  of  preternat 
ural  acuteness,  that  he  can  detect  character  at  a  glance, 
and  discern  instantaneously  between  the  righteous  and 
the  wicked.  If  this  is  a  correct  opinion,  it  must  be 


282  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

admitted  that  there  are  exceptional  cases  of  outrageous 
stupidity,  and  that  these  exceptions  are  liable  to  make 
a  greater  ado  and  deeper  impression  than  the  shrewd 
and  keen  majority.  It  would  seem,  sometimes,  as  it' 
clerks  understood  dry -goods,  and  nothing  else.  Silk 
and  velvet,  flowers  and  flounces,  they  appreciate,  but 
words,  modulations,  manners,  they  count  for  nothing. 
If  a  woman's  culture  shows  itself  in  elegant,  elaborate, 
expensive  dress,  that  they  comprehend,  to  that  they 
defer.  But  culture  that  has  of  choice  or  by  force  of 
circumstances  been  expended  in  other  directions  they 
know  nothing  about.  They  can  not  see  it.  They  do 
not  miss  it.  Long  companionship  with  dry -goods  seems 
to  have  given  them  a  sense  of  dry-goods,  and  to  have 
stripped  them  of  every  other. 

A  plainly  but  perfectly  dressed  lad}7-,  with  the  best 
blood  of  the  world  in  her  veins,  and — what  is  more 
imposing  to  the  haberdashing  heart — with  plenty  of 
money  in  her  pocket,  went  not  long  since  into  a  shop  to 
buy  napkins.  The  potentate  of  the  counter  showed  her 
such  napery  as  he  thought  suited  to  her  social  position. 
"These  are  rather  coarse,"  she  suggested.  "Have  you 
none  finer?"  " Oh  yes,"  said  the  gentleman,  "but  they 
arc  more  expensive."  It  is  ever  to  be  regretted  that 
the  lady  turned  in  silence  and  left  the  shop,  because  that 
clerk  will  never  know  that  it  was  his  own  idiotic  ef 
frontery,  and  not  the  expense  of  the  napkins,  which  lost 
him  the  customer. 

A  lady  who  never  made  any  great  figure  in  the  world, 
and  certainly  not  in  a  water-proof  cloak  on  a  rainy  dny, 
was  seeking  a  parasol.  The  clerk  showed  her  some 


THE  FASHIONS.  283 

very  common,  not  to  say  shabby,  specimens,  which  she 
declined.  A  little  further  down  the  counter  she  bought 
a  whole  piece  of  fine  and  costly  linen,  observing  which, 
the  knight  of  the  parasols  came  down  and  begged  her 
to  re-examine  his  assortment,  of  which  he  had  contrived 
to  unearth  an  altogether  different  and  better  collection. 
She,  too,  fell  below  the  requirements  of  the  occasion,  and 
bought  her  parasol  without  enlightening  him  upon  her 
discovery  of  his  stupid  mistake. 

A  lady,  large  and  lovely,  a  serene  Quaker  goddess, 
made  some  benevolent  casual  remark  to  the  clerk  with 
whom  she  was  trafficking,  just  as  she  would  have  patted 
the  head  of  a  strange  dog  who  might  have  run  up  and 
sniffed  at  her  gown,  and  the  little  whipper-snapper  clerk 
followed  her  to  the  door,  and — winked  at  her!  And 
while  she  stood  staring  at  him  in  her  first  amazed  con 
sciousness  of  his  individual  existence,  he  winked  again! 
Thus  vacuous  do  the  gods  make  a  human  skull,  yet 
furnish  it  with  all  the  ganglia  of  life. 

Happy  those  merchants  who  can  secure  the  right  sort 
of  clerks!  for  a  right  sort  there  is.  I  bought  a  table 
cloth  of  him  yesterday.  I  had  forgotten  to  take  the 
size  of  the  table,  or  a  pattern  of  the  color  to  be  matched. 
Patiently  he  evolved  my  probable  needs  from  my  frag 
mentary  facts,  discussed  pleasantly  the  presumptive  ev 
idence,  and  seemed  as  much  interested  in  the  harmonies 
of  my  dining-room  as  if  he  had  expected  to  eat  there 
thrice  a  day  for  the  remainder  of  his  natural  life.  Did 
he  deceive  me?  Not  a  bit.  I  know  of  a  surety  that 
my  dining-room  was  no  more  to  him  than  the  peanut- 
stand  on  the  common  opposite.  Me  and  it  has  he  al- 


284  TWELVE  MILES  F£OM  A  LEJIOX. 

ready  alike  forgotten.  None  the  less  was  his  moment 
ary  and  friendly,  but  not  familiar,  assumption  of  inter 
est  in  me  and  mine  altogether  winning  and  encouraging ; 
and  doubtless  also  was  it,  for  that-  moment,  altogether 
sincere.  His  sympathetic  and  refined  nature  does  un 
questionably  and  spontaneously  ally  itself  for  succor  and 
good  cheer  to  all  who  appeal  to  him.  May  his  kind 
heart,  his  welcoming  face,  and  his  engaging  manners  be 
a  mine  of  wealth  to  himself  and  all  his  employers  and 
dependents ! 

Not  to  all  men  are  given  that  grace  and  gracionsness, 
serviceable,  not  servile,  which  distinguish  a  seller  of 
sacques  in  a  warehouse  I  wot  of.  A  sacque,  rich  and 
fine,  but  not  overloaded  with  trimming,  nor  grotesque 
in  cut,  requires  the  quest  of  a  Sir  Galahad,  and  Sir  Ga 
lahad  was  there  to  make  it.  "With  indescribable  deftness 
and  swiftness  he  overturned  pile  after  pile  of  garments, 
making  running  comments  as  he  went:  "This  is  good 
material,  but  too  low  on  the  shoulder;  this  has  too 
deep  a  collar;  this  too  loud  a  trimming.  If  this  were 
a  quieter  shade !  Ah !  here  it  is !  and  here !  Or  you 
may  like  this."  And  out  they  came,  shapely  and  sober. 
And  if  they  had  been  gorgeous,  I  suspect  the  lady  would 
hardly  have  known  it,  so  won  over  was  she  by  his  read)* 
helpfulness.  And  when  he  brought  a  brush,  and  assist 
ed  her  in  disengaging  her  folds  from  the  dust  of  our 
long  drought  with  a  dexterity  wholly  free  from  officious- 
ness,  he  needed  but  to  speak  the  word,  and  she  would 
have  bought  every  sacque  in  the  shop. 

Drv-2foods  clerking  is  bad  business.     There  needs  no 

•/       Cj  O 

ghost  to  tell  us  that.     It  is  petty  and  showy.     It  takes 


THE  FASHIONS.  285 

women  at  their  \veakest — when  they  are  self-centred 
and  eager.  It  would  seem  to  give  men  scarce  any  play 
of  mind  or  muscle.  They  have  only  to  stand,  white  and 
waiting,  busy  to  irritation,  or  frenzied  with  idleness — 
forever  babbling  the  price  of  a  ninepenny  calico  or  a 
spool  of  cotton.  But  it  is  not  a  business  made  any  bet 
ter  by  brazen  ness  and  bullying.  Modesty,  courtesy,  gen 
tleness,  patience  toward  the  good,  and  also  toward  the 
froward,  serve  as  excellent  a  purpose  here  as  elsewhere. 
Among  his  mantles  and  his  wimples  and  his  crisping- 
pins,  as  truly  as  among  shattering  trumpets  and  splin 
tered  spear-shafts,  will  Sir  Galahad  keep  fair,  through 
faith  and  prayer,  his  manly  and  upright  heart. 

After  all,  this  matter  is  not  so  wholly  one-sided  as  it 
seems.  True,  the  Country  goes  up  to  the  City  to  shop, 
but  the  City  goes  down  to  the  Country  for  the  substance 
of  shopping.  The  City  knows  only  its  shop-windows. 
The  Country  drinks  at  the  fountain-head  whence  the 
shop-windows  derive  their  splendor.  Is  it  new  colors 
that  inventors  are  bending  all  their  ingenuity  to  create? 
A  late  essayist  suggested  that  there  are  colors  which 
the  eye  can  not  yet  perceive,  and  which  it  never  will 
perceive  without  more  exquisite  powers — the  result  of 
line  and  elaborate  training.  I  wish  the  writer  would 
look  down  into  my  swamp,  and  see  if  we  have  not  al 
ready  as  many  colors  as  there  is  any  call  for. 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  the  world  was 
never  so  beautiful  as  it  is  in  this  year  of  our  Lord, 
eighteen  seventy-three.  Nature  is  infinite,  not  simply 
in  colors  but  in  shades.  We  speak  of  "grass  green," 
ns  if  every  blade  of  grass  had  been  plungod  into  one 


286  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

dye-pot.  But  in  a  single  pasture  stretching  before  my 
eyes,  close-cropped  by  browsing  cows,  the  ground  is 
mottled  and  many-hued  as  a  Persian  carpet,  yet  never 
other  than  green.  There  are  little  dimples  of  deep  ver 
dure,  and  one  hollow,  bent  above  by  an  old  apple-tree 
nearly  blown  down,  but  recovering  itself  at  the  last 
moment,  and  transfixed  at  an  acute  angle.  Into  that 
hollow  all  the  summer  rains  settle  and  all  the  spring 
snows  drift.  On  it  the  ice  sparkles  and  shelters,  and 
now  its  soft  slope  is  a  velvet  sward,  thick  and  fine  and 
vivid,  and  wholly  unlike  the  yellow-green  of  the  up 
land  and  the  bare,  bronzed,  faded  verdancy  of  the 
bumps  that  one  can  hardly  call  hillocks.  Close  by  is  a 
field  of  cabbages,  or  turnips,  or  some  such  homely  es 
culent;  but  there  is  no  homeliness  in  its  level  sweep  of 
pallid  green,  which  is  far  removed  from  the  hues  of  my 
pasture  land.  Then  the  brown  lines  of  the  railroad 
dart  across  the  landscape,  adding  force  and  law  to  beau 
ty,  th?ir  unerring  precision  a  pleasant  foil  to  nature's, 
wildness.  Beyond,  the  fields,  too,  are  turning  brown, 
and  the  river  lounges  lazily  by,  and  the  long  low  woods 
skirt  its  banks;  and  my  swamp — ah,  the  splendor  of 
those  trees!  Every  clump  is  a  bouquet,  selected  and  ar 
ranged  as  if  with  the  view  of  bringing  out  the  strength 
and  glow  of  each :  bright  flaming  scarlet  and  cypress 
green,  wine-hued  and  perfect  amber,  warm  jcrimsons, 
and  yellows  of  the  brightest  and  the  softest — gradations 
and  blendings  of  a  marvelous  delicacy  and  an  endless 
variety. 

Yet  sometimes,  for  all  the  gold  and  scailet,  I  think 
nothing  is  quite  so  lovely  as  brown.      The  swamp  is 


THE  FASHIOXS.  287 

bordered  with  ferns.  The  old  stone  walls,  rough  and 
tumbling,  that  mark  the  road  are  overcrept  and  over- 
swept  with  blackberry  vines  and  tansy  and  golden-rod, 
with  sunflower  and  the  purple  endive,  wild  brake,  and 
gowan,  the  dandelion  of  the  fall — a  tawny  tangle  ;  but 
the  rich  ferns  prevail,  lending  their  deep,  soft  russet,  all 
mellow,  yellow  tints,  to  the  afternoon  sun,  to  be  shot 
through  and  through  with  his  golden  fire.  Then  does 
Nature's  true  worshiper  long  for  a  brown  silk  gown  to 
wear  in  these  autumn  days,  and  be  in  harmony  with  the 
earth — a  brown  sillc,  russet  and  lustrous  and  shimmer 
ing,  gold  in  the  sun,  grave  in  the  shade,  pliant  to  Na 
ture's  moods,  like  the  fern  and  the  blackberry  vine,  that 
scorn  to  glow  and  glitter  when  their  lord,  the  sun,  goes 
down. 

I  saw  a  bird  yesterday  in  an  elegant  steel-colored 
polonaise  of  two  shades,  with  black  trimmings.  It  was 
perfect  in  cut  and  combination;  and  if  he  would  but 
have  stayed  twittering  on  my  apple-tree  long  enofigh  for 
an  artist  to  catch  his  style,  I  would  have  sent  to  -the 
city  a  fall  fashion  which  should  have  bewildered  even 
the  belles  of  Broadway.  There  is  nothing  to  be  com 
pared  to  the  quiet  elegance  of  birds.  The  fields  and 
the  trees  are  inexhaustibly  ingenious,  but  their  taste  is 
hardly  chastened  enough  for  minute  and  accurate  imi 
tation.  A  maple-tree  walking  down  street  would  be  in 
danger  of  being  followed  by  gamins;  and  even  the  so 
berer  elm  and  the  presently-to-be-crimsoned  oak  would 
run  the  risk  of  being  called  garish  and  gay.  But  the 
little  birds  hop  up,  dainty  and  delicate.  Is  it  mode 
color  your  suits  shall  be?  No  gray  is  so  soft,  no  nap 


288  TWELVE  MILES. FROM  A  LEMOX 

so  smooth,  as  theirs,  and  the  brightness  comes  in  little 
dashes — dots  and  tips  and  fringes,  in  sheen  and  quiver 
and  evanescence — an  effect  rather  than  a  vision. 

But  when  I  saw  near  Calistoga  the  flower  which  the 
old  Spaniards  named  mariposa — butterfly  —  with  its 
broad,  apricot-tinted,  wing-like  petals,  dashed  with  a 
maroon  velvet  as  soft  in  tissue  as  the  purple  of  the 
heart's-ease,  I  saw  at  once  where  Monsieur  Worth  found 
the  great  first  cause  of  Madame  Nightingale's  gown. 
No  wonder  he  has  made  his  name  illustrious,  if  he  has 
gone  to  the  birds  and  the  butterflies  and  the  blossoms 
for  his  patterns!  Why  not  follow  him,  though  with 
unequal  steps?  Why  puzzle  over  color  complications, 
when  a  pansy  in  your  garden  will  tell  you  what  goes 
with  what?  Why  pay  to  a  foreigner  untold  heaps  of 
money  for  his  dictum,  when  a  bird  of  the  air  shall  carry 
the  voice,  and  that  which  hath  wings  shall  tell  the  mat 
ter?  We  cry  out  against  the  ugliness  of  the  rough 
earthen  jars  in  which  our  plants  are  potted.  Rough 
and  ugly  they  are,  but  have  we  mended  the  matter 
when  we  store  our  slips  in  glazed  vases,  painted  a  bright 
and  shining  green,  which  kills  all  the  color  out  of  the 
plants?  Nature  puts  all  her  brightness  into  leaf  and 
blossom,  and  makes  the  boles  of  her  trees  as  rough  and 
brown  as  possible,  dowered  only  with  their  rugged 
strength,  which  bears  all  the  beauty  aloft.  Let  us  also 
be  rough  and  rugged  as  to  the  bases  of  our  flower-pots, 
for  'tis  our  nature  too. 

I  will  go  down  into  my  swamp  and  study.  It  is  rain 
ing  delightful  showers,  but  I  love  the  drip  of  the  leaves 
and  the  saucy  slap  of  wet  boughs,  and  the  artists  say 


THE  FAsmoxs.  289 

that  gray  days  are  the  days  for  color.  We  have  had  a 
surfeit  of  sunshine  for  three  weeks  of  hazy  delight.  Let 
us  go  out  to  welcome  this  delicious  rain,  and  come  home 
laden  with  leaves  more  ruddy  than  the  rose  petals  of 
our  last  lost  June,  with  golden  boughs  more  lovely  than 
that  whose  variegated  gleam  shone  through  the  Sibyl 
line  grove  into  the  eyes  of  pious  JEneas. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  get  leaves !"  cries  Faintheart.  "  They 
are  so  high  up.  You  must  have  a  man  and  a  ladder." 
A  man  and  a  ladder!  Bring  hither  a  water-proof  and 
a  pair  of  rubber  boots,  and  leave  your  ladders  and  men 
to  their  own  destruction.  Is  not  rny  swamp  amply  sup 
plied  with  hassocks  on  purpose  to  step  on?  Are  there 
no  branches  to  cling  to,  that  one  must  bring  men  and 
ladders?  Nay,  has  not  Nature  herself  leveled  a  tree 
for  our  climbing?  •  There  lies  he,  a  prostrate  monarch, 
but  so  strong  that  from  the  uptorn  earth  still  clinging 
to  his  roots  he  extracts  the  juices  of  life,  and  still  nur 
tures  all  his  tender  lejnves,  and  still  drinks  for  his  au 
tumn  glory  the  mystic  blood-red  wine.  Safe  seated  on 
liis  fallen  trunk,  safe  housed  among  his  supporting 
branches,  what  need  of  men  or  ladders?  Here  is  the 
musical  tinkle  of  the  rain  on  the  leaves,  the  soft  rustle 
of  the  leaves  in  the  wind.  Here  is  a  carpet  which  the 
Shah  might  strangle  his  ministers  for,  and  a  canopy 
which  might  task  the  fairies'  wand.  Here  life  gathers 
its  forces  for  a  final  stand  against  wintry  death,  and  here 
shall  victory  prevail,  for  in  these  hidden  nooks  green 
grow  the  rashes  O  through  all  the  furious  winter's 
rages. 

13 


290  TWEL  VE  JIILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 


XVI. 

SLEEP.  AND  SICKNESS. 

THE  one  requisite  to  good  health,  good  looks,  sweet 
temper,  prosperity  in  business,  and  general  success  in 
life,  is  sleep.  I  do  not  know  whether  we  shall  be  able, 
as  Matthew  Arnold  says,  to  "  hit  it  off  happily  "  with 
Solomon.  It  is,  perhaps,  not  quite  easy  to  tell  exact 
ly  what  he  had  in  his  mind ;  but  if  he  meant  that  people 
should  try  to  cut  down  their  sleep  to  the  smallest  pos 
sible  allowance,  it  may  be  superfluous,  but  it  is  certain 
ly  irresistible,  to  remark  that  I  do  not  agree  with  him. 
But  he  probably  did  not  mean  that  He  certainly 
would  not  be  likely  to  differ  from  me. 

The  necessity  of  sleep,  it  may  be  admitted,  is  a  dis 
agreeable  necessity.  To  turn  aside  from  all  the  pleas 
ures  of  life,  from  the  sweet  consciousness  of  existence, 
to  give  over  thought  and  love  and  memory  and  hope — 
all  plans  and  pursuits — and  go  down  into  forgetfulness 
or  unconsciousness,  is,  or  seems  to  be,  an  unspeakable 
loss.  It  is  a  death,  temporary,  but  imperious  and  ever- 
recurring.  Yet  it  is  so  universal,  so  gradual,  so  natu 
ral,  that  we  yield  to  it  not  only  without  dread,  but  with 
delight.  In  the  silent  splendor  of  star-lit  nights,  which 
seem  to  put  us  on  a  brotherly  footing  with  the  whole 
universe,  in  the  blackness  of  nights  that  know  no  star, 
when  we  seem  to  be  standing  alone  in  the  solitude  of 
eternity,  life  is  too  fascinating,  nncl  we  begrudge  a  mo- 


&LEEP  ASD  SICKNESS.  291 

ment  lost;  but  even  then,  without  will,  against  will,  the 
heavy  eyelids  droop,  and,  all  unhindered,  the  sly  soul 
slips  away  into  some  remote  recess  of  the  brain  to  lie 
in  ambush  for  the  rising  dawn  and  the  strong  new 
world. 

If  we  could  have  been  made  to  get  along  without 
sleep,  I  should  like  it  better,  but  since  sleep  we  must, 
why  should  we  quarrel  with  fate?  Our  ancestors, 
stanch  men  in  many  regards,  have  yet  done  the  world 
harm  by  their  indiscriminate  abuse  of  sleep.  One  would 
think,  to  read  some  books,  that  slumber  was  an  inven 
tion  of  the  Evil  One,  to.be  repressed  and  snubbed  con 
tinually.-  On  the  contrary,  sleep  comes  nearer  being  a 
panacea  than  any  pill  or  potion  ever  concocted. 

In  the  country,  people  sometimes  become  so  demoral 
ized  on  the  subject  that  early  rising  takes  on  the  pro 
portions  of  a  vice.  I  have  an  inward  conviction  that 
the  farmers  from  the  outskirts  snap  their  whips  with 
fresh  unction  as  they  go  by  our  village  houses  in  the 
early  morning,  exulting  in  the  thought  that  they  are 
up  and  about  while  we  sluggards  have  scarcely  rubbed 
our  eyes  open.  I  have  heard  a  family  admiringly 
spoken  of  because  it  rose,  breakfasted,  and  had  prayers 
before  the  dawn  had  fairly  reddened  the  east.  Can  such 
prayers  be  acceptable?  Our  people  do,  indeed,  yield 
to  the  truth  of  history  so  far  as  to  tell  children  of 
beauty-sleep,  and  bid  them  go  to  bed  early;  but  they 
forget  all  about  it  in  the  morning,  and  stimulate  them 
to  early  rising.  Indeed,  ignorance  and  folly  sometimes 
go  so  far  as  to  awaken  children  for  the  purpose  of  get 
ting  them  up,  which  is  just  not  murder  in  the  first  de- 


292  TWELVE  MILES  FJWM  A 

gree.  Lay  it  down  as  the  rule  of  family  life  that  no 
body  is  to  be  waked  by  external  means.  There  may 
be  extraordinary  circumstances  which  justify  a  viola 
tion  of  the  rule.  If  the  house  is  on  fire,  and  hand  and 
steam  engines  fail  to  extinguish  the  flames,  sleepers 
must  be  aroused;  but  even  then  begin  with  those  near 
est  the  fire,  and  bestir  others  only  as  the  danger  advan 
ces.  I  suppose  it  is  absolutely  certain  that  when  a  man 
has  slept  long  enough  he  will  wake  of  his  own  accord. 

The  time  at  which  sleep  is  taken  is  of  less  account 
than  the  amount  of  sleep.  If  it  can  be  had  in  dark 
ness,  doubtless  that  is  best;  but  sleep  by  daylight  is  a 
good  thing  too.  Some  people  take  credit  to  themselves 
for  accomplishing  much  before  breakfast,  but  after 
breakfast  are  constantly  found  napping  on  the  sofa  or 
nodding  in  the  lounging  chair.  What  superior  virtue 
is  there  in  sleeping  by  installment  to  sleeping  in  the 
lump?  Some  people  are  called  lazy  because  they  take 
a  nap  after  a  noonday  dinner;  but  the  efficiency  of  their 
waking  hours  is  a  sufficient  justification  for  their  mid 
day  repose.  Sleep  anywhere  and  everywhere  is  good. 
Ministers  complain  if  here  and  there  a  member  of  their 
congregation  grows  drowsy ;  but  as  I  look  around  and 
see  the  hard-working  men  and  women,  all  clean  and 
fresh  and  smooth  in  their  Sunday  suits,  sheltered  from 
sun,  released  from  toil,  and  soothed  by  the  pleasant  voice 
of  a  well -beloved  pastor  into  a  slightly  unsteady  but 
richly  earned  repose,  I  bless  them  unaware.  Not  the 
least  of  the  many  benefits  wrought  us  by  the  clergy  is 
the  sweet  somnolence  which  so  gently  and  benignly 
broods  over  a  weary  and  happy  congregation  on  a  sul- 


SLEEP  A.SD  SICKNESS.  293 

try  Sunday  afternoon.  Fore-ordination  and  free-will 
may  be  bard  to  reconcile;  moral  and  natural  responsi 
bility  may  be  difficult  of  discrimination  ;  the  bearing  of 
election  on  duty  is  not  easy  to  see ;  but  no  man  can  go 
into  an  airy,  pleasant  church,  sit  down  in  peace  among 
his  friends  and  neighbors,  and  fall  softly  asleep  to  the 
sound  of  holy  words  from  holy  lips,  without  great  gain 
to  the,  life  that  now  is,  and,  I  believe  and  trust,  with  no 
loss  to  that  which  is  to  come. 

As  for  Napoleon  and  the  others  who  are  brandished 
over  us  as  having  wrought  their  great  deeds  on  four 
hours'  sleep,  in  the  first  place  I  do  not  believe  a  word 
of  it,  and  in  the  second  place,  if  they  did,  it  was  but  an 
exception  ;  and  we  might  just  as  well  put  our  eyes  out 
because  Homer  wrote  the  "Iliad"  without  any,  as  to 
rub  open  our  eyes  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  be 
cause  Napoleon  slept  four  hours  in  his  saddle.  One 
man's  need  is  no  rule  for  another  man's  life.  There  is 
but  one  infallible  rule  for  the  sleepers,  that  every  one 
sleeps  till  he  wakes  of  himself;  and  for  the  awake,  that 
they  shut  the  doors  softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  those 
who  are  asleep.  This  is  the  whole  duty  of  man. 

If  one  should  desire  a  few  little  secondary  rules,  it 
might  be  well  to  warn  him  against  self-glorification. 
Neither  rising  early  availeth  any  thing,  nor  rising  late. 
The  wise  man  who  used  to  rise  with  the  sun  or  before 
it  in  our  copy-books  may  have  been  foolish  in  so  doing, 
but  must  have  been  foolish  if  he  based  his  wisdom  on  his 
early  rising.  The  question  is,  What  does  he  do  after  he 
is  up?  The  early  bird  has  been  catching  the  worm  for 
many  generation?,  but  I  never  heard  that  the  late  bird 


294  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

starved  for  lack  of  worms;  and  what  of  the  owl  and 
the  bat,  who  do  not  get  up  at  all  till  honest  folks  are  in 
bed? 

Ah,  no !  Solomon's  sluggard  was  doubtless  a  worth 
less  fellow,  who  slept  as  lazily  as  he  wrought,  and  did 
every  thing  by  halves.  When  a  sound  soul  craves  a 
little  more  sleep,  a  little  more  slumber,  it  is  a  sign  that 
lie  needs  it,  and  his  first  duty  is  to  take  it.  Nature 
knows  when  there  has  been  sleep  enough,  and  makes  us 
aware  by  the  clear  brain  and  the  steady  nerve  and  the 
blood  alert;  and  then  there  needs  not  bell  nor  voice, 
but  only  the  inward  prompting,  to  set  our  life  astir. 

Sleep  is  the  preventive  and  the  cure  of  disease. 
Lack  of  sleep  opens  the  door  to  every  malady  under 
heaven.  Sleep,  the  shadow  of  death,  is  the  minister  of 
life.  Plunder  of  sleep  may  give  a  phantom  of  life,  but 
it  is  the  herald  and  the  preparer  of  death. 

Yet  I  suspect  there  is  a  great  deal  of  dread  and  sym 
pathy  wasted  on  illness.  Health  should  be  the  habit  of 
life,  but  sickness,  too,  has  its  sunny  side.  I  am  inclined 
to  think  it  is  the  friends  and  attendants  of  sick  peo 
ple  who  have  the  worst  of  it,  and  not  the  sick  people 
themselves.  This  is  certainly  the  case  in  some  forms 
of  illness.  "When  you  are  in  the  depths,  you  do  not 
.know  it.  When  you  can  not  breathe,  other  people  are 
alarmed,  and  forecast  possibilities;  for  yourself,  you 
think  neither  of  past  nor  future,  but  only  of  breathing. 
There  have  been  people  who  in  moments  of  great  dan 
ger  had  great  thoughts,  as  if  the  soul  bloomed  in  the 
sudden  eternal  light  to  wondrous  power.  I  must  con 
fess  to  only  the  most  commonplace  experiences.  Once 


SLEEP  AND  SICKNESS.  295 

I  was  thrown,  from  a  carriage  directly  under  the  horse. 
I  heard  —  I  might  almost  say  felt — his  fierce  pawing 
close  to  rny  head,  and  all  that  my  stupid  soul  could  say 
to  itself  was,  "  He  has  not  hit  me  this  time,  but  perhaps 
he  will  the  next,  and  it  will  kill  me.  Nor  this  time  ei 
ther/'  May  not  the  final  transit  be  in  itself  as  common 
place,  as  little  momentous?  In  spite  of  all  the  terrors 
of  the  theologies  and  the  mysteries  of  the  metaphysics, 
death  is  as  natural  as  birth.  Who  can  tell  that  we  do 
not  pass  through  the  one  as  through  the  other,  all  un 
aware?  Life  opens  before  the  little  one  bright  and 
beautiful,  wrapped  around  with  love  and  tenderness, 
but  whence  and  how  he  came  he  knows  as  little  as  the 
pink-petaled  rose-bud  opening  to  the  June  sun.  So 
may  it  not  be  that  Death  clasps  close  the  parting  soul 
in  dreamless  natural  repose,  leaving  to  the  living  all 
the  pain,  while  the  dead,  forever  alive,  wakes  wonder- 
ingly  to  the  glory  that  shall  be? 

We  hear  of  illness  around  us  every  day.  Nay,  in 
some  dim  and  distant  past,  some  vague  remote  Egyp 
tian  antiquity,  we  seem  to  see  a  vision  of  scarlet  fever 
arid  whooping-cough,  of  chicken-pox  and  measles,  and 
vaccination  and  pennyroyal  tea,  and  housing  and  pet 
ting,  iu  which  we  ourselves  have  played  a  prominent 
part.  But  strong  with  inherited  vigor  and  country  air, 
and  wholesome  lack  of  training,  and  free,  wild,  generous 
living,  you  have  grown  up,  dear  friend,  in  robust,  not 
to  say  defiant,  health,  and  have  carried  all  along  your 
manhood  or  womanhood  an  indomitable,  irrepressible 
physical  force  and  activity  which  have,  perhaps,  even 
surged  over  upon  }'our  mental  characteristics,  and  made 


296  TWELVE  MILES  FliOJf  A  LEMOX. 

you -the  least  in  the  world  arrogant,  scornful,  exacting, 
exultant,  where  you  otherwise  would  have  been,  let  us 
hope,  the  very  pink  of  meekness  and  modesty. 

Ah  !  good  friend,  exult  no  more.  Even  for  you  Ne 
mesis  waits.  Even  you  are  approaching  your  bound 
ary  lines,  though  you  know  it  not,  or  even  were  aware 
that  for  you  existed  limitations. 

So  you  go  plunging  into  the  swamp  and  paddling 
through  the  "slush"  of  our  unrelenting  weather,  and 
never  heed  the  obstacles.  Obstacles  are  made  not  to 
be  counted,  but  surmounted.  Each  day  has  its  visit, 
its  business,  its  excursion,  its  engagement,  and  if  the 
day  cqmes  with  blinding  sleet,  or  whirling  snow,  or  icy 
rain,  so  much  the  worse  for  rain  and  sleet  and  snow, 
but  away  you  go.  There  has  never  occurred  to  you 
the  possibility  of  being  beaten  in  any  contest  whatever. 
What  said  General  Upton  when  the  committee  suggest 
ed  that  in  his  work  on  tactics  were  to  be  found  no  rules 
for  the  arrangement  of  a  surrender?  "That,  sir,  is  a 
thing  which  should  never  be  provided  for  in  an  Ameri 
can  army  !"  Bravo,  General  Upton  ! 

But  there  comes  a  night  on  which  you  go  to  bed 
with  the  delightful  consciousness  of  aims  accomplished, 
and  in  fifteen  minutes  are  surprised  that,  instead  of  its 
being  morning,  it  is  still  the  same  day  you  went  to  bed, 
and  you  are,  moreover,  aware  of  your  left  shoulder. 
Unhappy !  the  only  health  is  unconsciousness.  Your 
intangible  idea  develops  into  a  distinct  ache  in  the  top 
of  that  dreadful  left  shoulder,  which  no  change  of  po 
sition,  no  determination  to  fix  your  mind  on  some  other 
subject,  will  remove.  You  make  Herculean  efforts  to 


SLEEP  AND  SICKXESS.  297 

forget  that  shoulder,  but  in  vain.  The  ache  resolves 
itself  into  a  well-defined  pain,  and  the  pain  becomes  ad 
venturous,  and  organizes  exploring  expeditions  north 
ward  and  southward,  eastward  and  westward,  and  your 
time  is  beguiled  by  the  lively  interest  you  take  in  its 
progress  and  enterprises.  Now  your  chest  seems  a  great 
cave  full  of  stalagmites  and  stalactites,  and  the  stalag 
mites  and  stalactites  are  all  luminous,  brilliant,  crystal- 
ized  pain.  Now  it  is  a  little  imp  alight  on  your  shoul 
der,  clutching  it  harder  and  harder,  and  a  whole  legion 
of  little  imps  pour  after  him,  and  spin  down  your  nerves, 
and  follow  along  every  avenue  of  sense  and  blood  and 
breath,  gnawing,  gnawing,  gnawing  with  monotonous 
persistence  and  ever-growing  power.  From  force  of 
habit  you  full  asleep,  and  are  startled  awake  again,  and 
still  those  imps  are  at  it.  It  was  amusing  for  a  while, 
but  it  presently  becomes  tiresome,  and  then  exaspera 
ting.  There  is  a  point  beyond  which  even  novelty  ceases 
to  interest,  and  the  ice-cold  night  was  never  so  mighty. 
It  broods  over  you  like  a  pall,  discouraging,  deadening. 
And  the  little  imps  have  so  possessed  themselves  of  you 
that,  they  have  fairly  driven  you  out  of  your  strong 
holds.  You  dare  not  go  down  into  your  own  lung?, 
but  only  Jiang  on  to  breath  by  your  eyelids,  and  every 
short,  shallow  gasp  is  a  sharp  pain.  But  you  battle' 
through  the  night  with  fitful  sleep,  and  weary,  won 
dering  waking,  thinking  longingly  of  sunshine  and  the 
register,  and  promising  }rourself  to  give  the  imps  a 
sweat  if  ever  daylight  comes.  Daylight  does  come  and 
sunshine,  and  the  register  and  the  blazing  wood  fire, 
and  mustard  and  hot  iron,  and  those  little  maliernant 

D 

13* 


298  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEX  OX. 

fiends  carry  the  day  over  them  all,  dancing  and  raving 
and  raging  through  your  astonished  blood. 

Till  somebody  suggests  the  doctor.  The  doctor!  It 
is  an  absurd  idea.  A  doctor  is  for  sickness.  Can  a 
doctor  cast  out  devils?  Sickness  is — well,  you  do  not 
know  exactly  what,  seeing  you  never  had  it,  but  cer 
tainly  not  this.  This  is  a  horde  of  minute,  riotous  evil 
spirits,  reckless,  spiteful,  mocking  morsels  of  demons, 
that  have  entered  into  you,  and  are  holding  high  carni 
val.  But  they  so  occupy  your  time  and  attention  that 
you  make  no  effective  opposition  to  any  plans  or  pro 
posals  of  the  outside  world ;  and  presently  the  doctor 
appears  upon  the  scene,  and  the  outside  world  somehow 
begins  to  buzz  and  darken  into  a  dream,  a  twilight,  a 
sea  of  unreality,  over  which  the  phantoms  of  familiar 
friends  loom  un really,  but  whose  doubtful  expanse  is 
broken  by  solid  islands  of  mustard  and  poultice,  and 
batting  and  bitterness,  and  across  whose  sombre  silence 
shoot  gleams  of  drollery  and  grotesque,  demure,  fantas 
tic  fun.  And  there  is  time  no  longer,  nor  any  division 
of  day  and  night,  until  a  time,  times,  and  the  dividing 
of  time. 

And  this  is  a  "fit  of  sickness."  You  were  never 
more  amazed  in  your  life.  Out  of  the  dark,  doubtful 
sea  you  are  dragged  to  the  dry  land  of  faint  but  real 
life,  and  behold  the  little  imps  are  beaten  off,  shut  and 
sealed  in  the  caverns  whence  they  swarmed,  and  there 
never  were  any  imps,  and  their  name  was  Pneumonia: 
and  you  see  the  light  that  it  is  good,  and  you  can  divide 
the  light  from  the  darkness,  as  in  the  beginning,  and 
von  call  the  lishtDav,  and  the  darkness  vou  call  Ni<rht 


SLEEP  AND  SICKXESS.  299 

But  to  think  that  you,  the  unassailable,  have  had  "a 
fit  of  sickness!"  And  that  this  is  it!  And  that  this 
strange,  bewildering,  absorbing,  altogether  unimagina 
ble  experience  has  been  going  on  around  you  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world,  and  you  had  no  more  idea  of 
it  or  what  it  was  like  than  if  you  had  been  founded  in 
another  world ! 

Then  comes  the  weary  waiting  of  convalescence,  the 
impatience  to  up  and  about,  the  hunger  that  may  not 
be  appeased.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  That  is  the  way  people 
talk,  but  it  is  not  so.  Convalescence  is  a  delightful 
border-land  between  death  and  life,  a  Beulah  in  which 
you  love  to  linger,  whose  grapes  go  down  sweetly.  It 
is  a  condition  in  which  a  perfect  consciousness  of  exist 
ence  is  combined  with  an  absolute  negation  of  duties. 
You  know  that  you  are  a  nuisance,  a  cumberer  of  the 
ground, 

"Whom  none  can  love,  whom  none  can  thank, 
Creation's  blot,  creation's  blank," 

and  you  do  not  care.  The  furnace  fires  may  go  out, 
the  wine-cellar  run  dry,  the  tank  overflow,  the  barrel 
of  meal  waste,  and  the  cruse  of  oil  fail ;  but  you  are 
certain  that  your  thermometer  will  be  cared  for,  that 
your  sherry-glass  will  never  be  empty,  and  you  lie  in  a 
line  though  feeble  disdain- for  all  these  carking  cares. 
People  can  not  find  things:  let  them  hunt.  The  dray 
men  are  swearing  outside,  but  it  is  no  business  of  yours 
to  show  them  how  to  get  the  coal  into  the  cellar.  The 
world  is  going  on,  and  you  have  no  responsibility  what 
ever  about  the  order  of  its  going.  This  is  the  true  joy 
of  convalescence.  This  is  the  way  to  make  illness  a 


300  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

means  of  grace.  If  you  go  caring  for  other  people, 
you  might  as  well  be  well.  But  to  lie  in  tranquil  and 
luxurious  inertia,  absolutely  devoid  of  energy,  without 
purpose,  without  conscience,  without  thought,  wholly 
selfish,  and  unpricked  in  your  selfishness  —  it  is  no 
mean  paradise.  Life  is  so  full  that  it  is  an  exquisite 
satisfaction  for  once,  and  for  a  time,  to  find  it  empty. 
The  hours  and  the  days  lapse  languidly,  and  you  have 
had  a  fortnight  of  bliss  in  the  process  and  blank  in  the 
memory,  and  by  that  time,  ten  to  one,  your  soul  is  astir 
again — but  the  pause  was  delicious. 

Hungry,  did  you  say  ?  There  are  terrible  traditions 
of  fever-parched  lips  which  ignorance  forbade  to  moist 
en,  and  fever-wasted  frames  which  food  might  not  up 
build.  Who  has  not  his  story  to  tell  of  some  conva 
lescent  ancestor  who  escaped  his  keeper  and  devoured, 
clandestinely,  but  with  impunity,  a  whole  mince-pie  be 
fore  he  was  discovered  by  horror-smitten  friends?  But 
we  have  changed  all  that.  The  doctors  nowadays  are 
n  friendly  folk,  and  prophesy  smooth  things.  Water? 
Yes,  indeed,  as  much  as  you  like.  Milk?  The  more 
the  better.  Eat  whatever  you  wish,  and  whenever  you 
choose,  and  as  long  as  you  can.  The  Old  School  Pres 
bytery  stand  around  astonished  ;  but,  strong  in  the  law, 
you  eat  steadfastly  on  with  mild  convalescent  defiance, 
and  climb  steadily  back  to  strength.  Against  such  proof 
there  is  no  law.  And  the  neighbors  send  in  their  best 
canned  strawberries,  and  apple  jellies,  and  currant  wine, 
and  you  swallow  them  all  with  only  moderate  gratitude, 
not  to  say  placid  indifference.  So  far  from  being  in  a 
hurry  to  go  back  into  the  world  again,  yon  want  nothing 


SLEEP  AND  SICKNESS.  301 

but  to  be  let  alone.  The  turmoil,  the  eagerness,  the  busy 
ness  seem  to  you  so  aimless.  A  and  B  and  C  go  by  ev 
ery  day  regularly  to  meet  the  morning  trains.  What 
folly  !  as  if  it  made  any  difference  whether  they  met 
the  train  or  not.  But  your  exclamation-point  is  a  very 
small  one.  You  are  not  to  be  disturbed  by  deep  emo 
tions  of  any  sort.  The  din  of  the  outside  world  comes 
softly  to  your  ears.  Since  the  din  is  not  unmusical, 
very  well ;  but  the  world  might  as  wisely  be  silent. 
Why  should  you  get  up?  It  is  easier  to  stay  in  bed. 
But  who  wants  to  be  strong  ?  It  is  just  as  comfortable 
to  be  weak. 

"Far  or  forgot  to  me  is  near  ; 

Shadow  and  sunlight  are  the  same  ; 
The  vanished  gods  to  me  appear ; 
And  one  to  me  are  shame  and  fame." 

Ah !  Providence  has  wisely  ordered  it.  Sickness  is 
too  luxurious  a  thing  to  last.  Canned  strawberries  for 
ever  would  eat  the  life  out  of  immortality  itself.  Peace 
and  tranquillity  and  unruffled  seas  are  not  of  this  world. 
For  this  world,  whatever  come  hereafter,  activity  and 
endeavor,  research  and  doubt,  and  balancing  and  adjust 
ing,  house-guiding  and  money-earning,  social  service, 
dress-coats,  and  a  thousand  narrow  ruffles  to  be  lined 
and  bound  with  the  same  in  a  different  shade.  Why, 
here  you  are,  clean  out  of  dry-dock,  under  full  head  of 
steam,  plowing  mid-ocean  through  the  surf  and  spray 
of  sundered  metaphors  as  aforetime,  and  all  that  past  of 
silence  and  serenity,  and  grass-grown  streets  and  mossy 
walls,  is  already  as  a  dream,  when  one  awaketh. 

Mr.  Bachelor — the  Chevalier  Bayard  of  our  age,  as 


S02  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

one  foolishly  and  fondly  saitli ;  but  tliat  I  must  disallow  : 
I  have  a  private  Bayard  or  two  of  my  own  who  must 
not  be  discrowned.  All  the  honors  of  the  indefinite  ar 
ticle  I  freely  grant,  nay,  gladly  pay  you.  In  a  republic 
of  Bayards  you  shall  hold  a  high  place,  or,  if  a  king 
dom  there  must  be,  you  shall  salute  with  royal  grace 
messieurs  mes  fibres  !— 

Chevalier  Bayard,  you  have  been  ill,  say  the  newspa 
pers,  in  curtife?mc  phrase.  A  brother  in  unity  reaches 
forth  to  you  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  in  that  good 
ly  and  gracious  experience.  You  are  just  beginning  to 
sit  up,  they  report,  and  mean  thereby  only  a  symptom. 
But  I  know  how  the  foundations  of  the  world  drop 
away  beneath  your  feet  under  that  first  feeble  rising. 
Courage,  my  brother,  I  do  not  say.  I  rather  counsel 
cowardice!  Be  weak,  if  you  would  quit  yourself  like 
n  man!  Your  great  prototype,  no  doubt,  in  typhoid 
fever  called  for  drink  like  a  sick  girl.  Do  not  control 
yourself.  Let  the  well  people  do  that.  Be  petulant,  be 
querulous,  be  imperious  and  exacting.  It  is  a  sign  that 
you  will  recover.  And  above  all  things,  do  not  hurry 
matters.  You  may  never  be  ill  again  as  long  as  you 
live.  It  is  your  one  chance  for  leisure  and  luxury  and 
absolute  despotism.  Be  wise  to-dn}r,  'tis  madness  to  de 
fer.  If  .they  force  you  from  the  friendly  couch,  cling 
to  the  almost  as  friendly  lounge.  Battle,  then,  for  the 
reclining  chair.  Make  a  stand  on  dressing-gown  and 
slippers.  Go  not  out-doors  till  the  last  gun  is  fired. 
Who  breathes  the  outside  air  is  lost  to  all  the  privileges 
and  immunities  of  illness.  Onewhohasbeenthereatura 
te  salutnt ! 


303 


XVII. 

DINNERS. 

WISDOM  is  justified  of  her  children.  What  is  best 
for  the  soul  is  best  for  the  body,  and  the  good  of  the 
body  is  the  good  of  the  soul.  Self-denial  has  its  own 
sphere ;  but,  in  the  long  run,  that  which  is  most  pleas 
ant  is  most  salutary.  Certainly,  then,  we  make  some 
mistakes  iii  our  domestic  arrangements.  Our  dinners 
are  not  proof  of  mortal  infallibility.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  advocate  abstemiousness.  The  notion  sometimes  pro 
mulgated  that  we  should  rise  from  the  table  as  hungry 
as  we  sat  down  may  be  consistently  advocated  by  board 
ing-house  keepers,  but  is  tolerably  sure  to  receive  from 
the  rest  of  the  world  the  neglect  which  it  merits.  The 
only  creed  for  rational  beings  embraces  what  is  called 
"a  square  meal" — plenty  of  food,  varied  and  agreeable, 
and  freedom  to  eat  till  you  are  satisfied.  But  do  we 
not  give  undue  prominence  to  puddings  and  pies,  while 
the  superfluity  and  unwholesomeness  of  dinners  lie  in 
the  pudding  and  pie  department  more  than  in  any  oth 
er?  In  the  country  the  temptation  is  strong.  Milk 
and  eggs,  sugar  and  raisins,  are  alwaj^s  at  command,  and 
a  pudding,  therefore,  is  a  steadfast  friend.  But  meat, 
though  spasmodically  abundant,  is  somewhat  precarious, 
both  in  quality  and  appearance.  Beefsteak  may  be  had 
for  the  asking,  if  you  speak  in  season,  but  a  juicy  and 


TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEUOX. 

tender  steak  is  a  gift  of  the  gods  vouchsafed  at  uncer 
tain  intervals.  As  for  vegetables,  they  are  a  lost  art. 
According  to  Hume,  no  testimony  should  be  allowed  to 
establish  an  occurrence  which  is  contrary  to  our  expe 
rience.  In  spite,  therefore,  of  horticultural  tradition,  I 
believe  that  vegetables  do  not  grow  from  the  soil,  but 
flourish  only  in  the  city  markets.  Meat  and  vegetables, 
however,  are  far  more  wholesome  than  pies  and  pud 
dings,  and,  moreover,  an  abundant  and  varied  supply  of 
them  dispenses  with  the  call  for  sweetmeats.  A  dinner 
of  beefsteak  and  potatoes  leaves  something  to  be  de 
sired  ;  but  if  corn  and  beans,  succotash,  macaroni,  squash, 
and  onions,  pickles,  apple-sauce,  and  cranberry,  be  pro 
vided  in  judicious  installments,  the  dinner  becomes  a 
sufficient  meal  without  further  foraging.  A  cup  of  Cof 
fee  or  tea,  bread  and  cheese  and  fruit,  are  all  that  the 
epicure  need  further  ask.  In  Sweden  and  Northern 
Europe  generally  we  are  told  that  far  greater  simplici 
ty  obtains  than  among  us.  Heavy  and  elaborate  des 
serts  are  dispensed  with,  and  hard  black  bread  and 
cheese  crowning  the  dinner  is  a  dish  to  set  before  a 
king.  And  so  sure  is  Nature  to  be  true  to  herself  that 
even  our  own  pampered  compatriots  learn  to  love  this 
simplicity,  and  write  home  abusive  letters  about  Amer 
ican  tables  that  are  no  more  heavily  laden  than  were 
their  own  up  to  the  moment  of  their  departure.  I  have 
even  known  Americans  to  become  so  enamored  of  for 
eign  frugality  as  to  import  casks  of  brown  bread  from 
Sweden  wherewithal  to  garnish  the  family  board.  But 
who  ever  heard  of  a  Danish  pie  or  a  Norwegian  pud 
ding  on  its  travels? 


ZHXXERS.  305 

Vegetable  food  is  not  only  more  wholesome  than 
sweets,  but  far  easier  to  prepare.  It  is  more  simply 
cooked.  The  ignorant  servant  can  learn  its  processes 
far  sooner  than  the  more  labored  combinations  of  cake 
and  pastry.  And  when  she  has  mastered  the  eternal 
harmonies,  and  knows  what  goes  with  what,  she  needs 
only  general  orders,  and  not  constant  surveillance.  The 
barrel  of  bread  and  cheese  does  the  rest.  Talk  of  a 
horn  of  plenty ! 

When  we  country  folk  hear  of  the  state  dinners  cat- 
en  by  city  folk,  wherein  a  dozen  courses  follow  each 
other  in  brief  and  brilliant  succession,  we  are  wont  to 
thank  Heaven  that  ive  are  not  as  this  Prodigal.  But  if 
just  balances  could  be  procured,  I  more  than  half  sus 
pect  the  "heavy  feeding"  would  be  found  on  the  side 
of  American  rather  than  French  dinners.  Look,  for 
example,  at  the  regulation  state  dinner  of  the  farm 
house  and  the  rural  community.  Turkey  as  the  head- 
centre,  fattened  and  stuffed  to  the  last  degree  of  rich 
ness  ;  all  available  vegetables,  sauces,  and  sweet  pickles ; 
plum-pudding;  mince,  apple,  and  squash  pie;  cranber 
ry  tart;  sweet  cider — always  siceet  cider — coffee,  tea, 
and  cheese.  There  are  people  still  living  who  think 
the  Thanksgiving  board  incomplete  without  a  boiled 
dish  at  the  head ;  often  a  goose  and  a  turkey  hunt  in 
couples  down  its  laden  level.  Now  you  have  only  to 
drive  this  team  tandem  instead  of  abreast,  and  immedi 
ately  you  have  a  twelve-in-hand  as  antic  as  any  French 
man  can  display.  But  because  you  choose  to  marshal 
your  tidbits  all  at  once  and  all  o'er  with  a  mighty  up 
roar,  I  do  not  know  that  you  are  any  more  frugal,  sim- 


306  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

pie,  or  democratic  than  your  neighbor  who  prefers  to 
have  his  in  relays.  When  we  add  to  the  city  dinner 
the  time  devoted  to  eating  it,  the  interspersed  wines, 
which  are  an  aid  to  digestion  if  not  to  devotion,  the  su 
perior  attractiveness  of  its  dissolving  views  to  the  whole 
solid  Sebastopol  before  which  we  sit  down  at  our 
Thanksgiving  festival,  there  is  surely  something  to  be 
said  on  both  sides. 

The  time  consumed  in  dinners  is  often  spoken  of  as 
if  it  were  a  burden  which  neither  our  fathers  nor  we 
are  able  to  bear.  So  it  would  be  if  we  gave  the  two  or 
three  hours  to  solid  eating.  But,  as  things  go,  dinners 
may  be,  and  often  arc,  one  of  the  most  agreeable  forms 
which  social  intercourse  takes  on.  There  is  always — 
or  at  least  there  can  be — a  degree  of  fitness  and  harmo 
ny  in  the  guests.  There  are  order  and  tranquillity,  and 
a  field  for  all  sorts  of  verbal  entertainment.  Even  an  in 
different  neighbor  is  tolerable  if  the  company  be  not  so 
large  as  to  forbid  general  conversation ;  if  it  be,  of  course 
the  dinner  loses  its  saving  clause,  and  }-our  salvation 
depends  upon  your  vicinage.  But  compared  with  the 
crush  and  clamor  of  evening  parties,  their  wear  and 
tear  of  voice  and  vesture,  or  the  insipid  ruralities  of  the 
picnic,  where  Nature  and  Life  meet  and  rnock  each  oth 
er,  dinners  seem  a  diversion  worthy  of  human  beings. 

I  should  be  sorry  to  seem  to  advocate  the  use  of  wine 
at  dinner.  But  if  we  banish  wine,  we  ought  also  to 
banish  the  profusion  for  which  wine  is  the  only  pallia 
tive.  No  doubt  it  would  be  healthier  for  us  all  to  use 
such  moderation  in  our  feasts  that  there  would  be  no 
call  for  any  stimulant.  But  the  country  deacon  just  as 


DINNERS.  307 

often  as  the  city  merchant  sets  before  us  a  task  to  which 
unassisted  nature  is  wholly  incompetent.  Yet  temper 
ance  in  eating  is  just  as  truly  a  Christian  duty  as  absti 
nence  in  drinking.  Probably,  indeed,  the  number  of 
those  who  fall  into  the  temptation  of  eating  too  much 
at  our  overladen  tables  is  far  greater  than  of  those  who 
fall  into  the  temptation  of  drinking  to  excess.  The  city 
and  country  alike,  then,  put  a  knife  to  their  neighbor's 
throat,  knowing  him  to  be  a  man  given  to  appetite — 
the  country,  I  maintain,  whetting  it  a  little  sharper, 
holding  it  a  little  closer,  and  pressing  it  a  little  harder 
than  the  city.  Is  the  city,  providing  a  remedy  for  its 
wrong,  though  at  some  hazard,  a  sinner  beyond  the 
country,  which  does  the  same  wrong,  but  provides  no 
remedy  at  all  ?  AVe  are  in  Holy  Writ  no  more  strenu 
ously  warned  against  wine-bibbers  than  against  riotous 
caters  of  flesh.  The  glutton  and  the  drunkard  are 
reckoned  as  yoke-fellows,  and  bound  to  the  same  goal. 
Let  us,  therefore,  be  simple  and  natural,  eating  our  meat 
with  gladness  and  singleness  of  heart,  adding  to  it  all 
the  native  vegetables  and  fruits  that  wise  forethought 
and  an  honest  income  can  command,  remembering  that, 
though  better  is  a  dinner  of  herbs  where  love  is  than  a 
stalled  ox  and  hatred  therewith,  the  best  thing  of  all  is 
stalled  ox  garnished  with  herbs,  and  presided  over  by 
a  love  so  wise  as  not  to  seek  out  many  inventions  of 
sweets  and  pastry. 

Yet  one  would  not  willingly  so  far  depart  from  the 
faith  of  his  fathers  as  not  to  have  mince-pies  at  Thanks 
giving.  Remembering  the  shelves  that  of  old  time  used 
to  stand  loaded  with  these  portentous  sweets,  the  jnrs 


308  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

of  mince-meat  that  were  wont  to  await  in  silence  and 
darkness  the  hour  that  should  bid  them  give  up  their 
juicy  store  to  join  the  innumerable  caravan  that,  with 
stately  and  majestic  step,  trod  its  eternal  circle  in  and 
out  of  those  closet  doors — beginning  with  Thanksgiv 
ing,  if  circles  can  begin,  filing  slowing  past  Christmas, 
past  New-year,  and  reaching  well  into,  and  sometimes 
beyond,  the  depths  of  midwinter — who  am  I  that  I 
should  set  up  a  new  standard,  and  fly  in  the  face  of 
Providence  ?  Now  that  we  have  brought  the  nation  to 
.our  way  of  thinking,  now  that  we  have  set  our  New 
England  festival  firm  in  the  affections  of  the  whole  peo 
ple,  shall  we  rob  it  of  one  of  its  chief  accompaniments? 
True,  mince -pie  is  not  a  characteristic  of  the  feast. 
Pumpkin -pies — which  the  refinements  of  these  later 
days  have  transformed  into  squash — are  rather  the  na 
tive  growth  of  Thanksgiving,  while  mince-pies  are  the 
offshoots  of  Christmas  and  Merrie  England.  But  long 
habit,  common  speech,  and  the  Treaty  of  Washington 
have  changed  all  that;  and  no  Yankee  housewife  would 
feel  that  she  had  made  her  calling  and  election  sure  un 
til  she  had  garnished  her  larder  with  goodly  rows  of 
flaky  and  fearful  pies. 

I  am  the  more  strenuous  on  this  point  because  I  sus 
pect  we  are  somewhat  inclined  to  take  on  airs  regard 
ing  the  past.  Am  I  deceived  in  fancying  that  I  detect 
a  flavor  of  condescension,  not  to  say  of  mild  contempt, 
toward  our  ancestors  even  in  our  very  act  of  celebra 
ting  their  feast?  We  are  not  simply  and  devoutly 
grateful  for  mercies  vouchsafed,  but  we  thank  thee,  O 
Lord,  that  we  are  not  as  other  men  are — even  these 


309 

grandfathers.  It  would  seem  as  if  we  needed  the  dis 
comfort  and  disadvantage  of  their  lives  for  a  foil  to  the 
comfort  and  brilliance  of  our  own.  We  can  not  be 
quite  happy  wifhout  assuming  that  they  were  misera 
ble. 

But  were  our  fathers  as  badly  off  as  we  think  ?  They 
had  fewer  of  the  arts  and  contrivances  than  we.  They 
brought  their  water  from  wells  outdoors,  and  they  shiv 
ered  somewhat  before  their  great  fires  in  their  great 
rooms.  But  they  never  experienced  the  anguish  of 
waking  on  a  winter  morning  to  find  an  icicle  hanging 
stiff  from  each  little  silver  water-pipe,  and  the  plumber 
twelve  miles  away,  and  engaged  twelve  houses  ahead ! 
They  drew  their  water  in  honest  buckets,  with  honest 
well-sweeps,  and  drank  and  thanked  God,  and  were 
never  bewildered  with  the  various  demerits  of  various 
metals.  We  send  hot  air-pipes  through  our  houses  like 
veins  through  the  body,  and  we  shelter  ourselves  with 
double  windows  and  storm-doors,  and  wonder  how  they 
of  old  times  survived  the  winters ;  but  a  house  near 
by,  whose  building  no  man  remembers,  is  a  marvel  of 
warmth  and  snugness  even  to  our  modern  notions.  It 
is  low -roofed  and  'small -windowed,  with  panes  many 
and  minute ;  but  its  walls  are  admirably  contrived  to 
keep  out  the  cold — which  is  an  excellent  thing  in  North 
ern  houses — and  delicate  plants,  which  die  in  the  frosts 
of  a  modern  furnace -heated  drawing-room,  laugh  to 
scorn  the  long  winter  nights  in  this  low,  large,  wood- 
warmed  parlor.  Our  forefathers  may  never  have  known 
what  it  was  to  be  thoroughly  comfortable  from  Decem 
ber  to  April,  but  if  they  were  a  little  cold  around  the 


310  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A 

shoulders,  as  they  sat  before  their  blazing  fires,  they 
were  surely  warm  around  the  heart.  There  is  some 
thing  glowing  to  the  imagination  in  the  leap  and  flick 
er  of  flames,  and  we  do  not  need  so  much  fire  to  keep 
us  warm,  if  we  can  see  what  fire  there  is.  The  straight- 
backed  chairs  and  sanded  floors  of  old  were  not  so  lux 
urious  as  our  easy  lounges  and  heavy  carpets ;  but  for 
those  very  chairs,  all  stiff  and  straight  as  they  are,  we 
are  ready  to  pay  fabulous  prices  to-day,  and  the  latest 
effort  of  science,  the  conclusion  of  her  closest  investiga 
tions,  is  an  urgent  request  for  us  all  to  discard  our  car 
pets,  which  gather  dust  and  shelter  miasms,  and  cher 
ish,  if  they  do  not  breed  disease,  and  return  to  bare 
floors,  and  health,  and  vigor.  So  it  seems  that  in  many 
things  we  have  but  boxed  the  compass,  and  come  around 
to  very  nearly  the  same  point  where  we  found  our 
grandfathers.  Be  sure,  those  excellent  and  ever-to-be- 
revered  gentlemen  had  a  far  more  tolerable  time  of  it 
than  we  usually  suspect. 

Yes,  and  a  far  more  cheerful  and  jolly  time  of  it. 

"We  count  them  good  soldiers,  devout  church-goer?, 
prim,  virtuous,  but  rather  ascetic ;  seldom  mirthful,  nev 
er  freakish  or  gamesome,  doing  even  their  courting  in 
solemn  Scriptural  phraseology.  Fie  upon  you,  narrow- 
minded  modern  !  Our  fathers  and  mothers,  nay,  even 
our  great- great  grandfathers  and  grandmothers  were 
young  men  and  women  in  their  day,  who  ate  and 
drank,  and  made  merry,  who  sang  and  danced,  and — 
shall  we  say  it? — flirted  as  outrageously  as  do  you, 
3*ouths  and  maidens,  in  gay  neck-ties  and  bouffant  pan- 
icrs.  They  may  have  written,  not  spoken,  "ye  meet- 


DINNERS. 

ing-house,"  where  we  should  say  "  the  church;"  possi 
bly  they  were  a  little  more  demure  than  we,  but  in  ev 
ery  generation,  in  every  garb,  youth  is  high-hearted,  and 
love  is  eager,  and  our  grandmothers  were  only  the  more 
winsome  with  their  demure  looks,  and  their  ways  a  lit 
tle  coy. 

Here  is  a  letter  written  sixty  years  ago  by  a  girl  in 
her  early  bloom.  The  paper  is  rough  and  yellow,  but 
is  it  any  more  rough  and  yellow  than  some  of  the  tinted 
note-sheets  of  our  last  invoice  from  Paris?  It  is  at  least 
barred  in  precisely  the  same  fashion,  and  must  have 
been  easier  to  write  on  than  is  much  of  our  smooth  and 
slippery  elegance,  which  deceives  the  pen  and  repels 
the  ink.  This  letter  opens  quaintly  and  didactically 
with  dignified  reflections  on  the  sweets  of  friendship, 
and  the  uncertainty  of  life  ;  but  the  fresh  young  blood 
bounds  anon,  and  we  are  presently  in  the  midst  of  jests, 
and  compliments,  and  blushes,  and  teasings,  and  all  the 
light  artillery  of  girls.  "Go  and  see  mother  as  often 
as  you  can,"  says  the  merry  maiden,  spending  her  first 
winter  in  the  city,  "and  tell  her  I  never  was  so  wild  in 
my  life  as  I  now  am."  It  is  not  the  message  of  an  au 
stere  daughter  to  a  grim  parent,  but  surely  of  love  ta 
love,  on  both  sides  cheerful,  happy,  sympathetic. 

Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  do  we  render  our  ancestors 
justice  when  we  make  their  merry-making  consist  in 
gross  and  heavy  overfeeding.  True,  they  did  pile  their 
tables  high,  but  with  their  active  outdoor  work  they 
could  not  live  by  bread  alone.  Life  with  them  was, 
moreover,  it  must  be  admitted,  rather  limited  in  the 
wny  of  operas,  and  concerts,  and  lectures,  in  the  way  of 


312  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEXOX. 

easy  roads  and  luxurious  carriages.  How  could  they 
express  their  hospitality  but  by  flowing  bowls  and 
smoking  boards?  Have  we  improved  so  much  upon 
them  that  we  dare  make  a  note  of  it?  Have  we 
wrought  all  the  brittleness  out  of  our  houses  that  we 
dare  throw  stones  at  theirs?  How  many  householders 
are  there  whose  first,  or  at  least  second  thought  at  the 
advent  of  a  friend  is  not  of  what  shall  we  eat,  what  shall 
we  drink?  We  do  not  reckon  it  in  ourselves  gross  or 
vulgar.  We  set  before  our  friends  four  or  five,  or  a 
dozen  courses,  where  the  family  table  is  amply  fur 
nished  with  two  or  three,  and  is  sometimes  content  with 
one.  It  is  not  that  we  fancy  our  friends  given  to  ap 
petite,  or  that  they  have  come  to  us  for  the  sake  of  eat 
ing  and  drinking;  but  we  long  always  in  all  ways  to 
do  them  honor  even  beyond  service,  and  love  is  justi 
fied  in  ministering  even  to  material  wants  in  its  own 
lavish  and  delicate  fashion.  It  is  not  profusion,  it  is 
not  even  prodigality  that  makes  vulgarity;  it  is  the 
motive  which  underlies  them.  In  the  overabundance 
of  our  ancestral  hospitality  shall  we  find  any  thing  more 
utterly  coarse  and  debasing  than  our  modern  custom  of 
parading  "The  Presents"  at  wedding -feasts?  If  Em 
erson  says  truly,  "  The  only  gift  is  a  portion  of  thyself" 
— who  gives  of  his  love  the  most  refined  token ;  he  who 
sets  before  his  friend  the  fatlings  of  his  own  flock,  the 
white  wheat  of  his  own  fields,  the  dainty  viands  of  his 
own  devising,  or  he  who  coolly  reckons  up  his  own  in 
come,  the  circumstances  of  his  friend,  the  degree  of  their 
acquaintance,  and  on  a  mathematical  calculation  buys  a 
plated  milk-pitcher  of  the  nearest  jeweler,  and  is  mor- 


DLVXJSSS.  313 

tified  by  seeing  "solid  silver"  nppended  to  bis  neigh 
bor's  cake-basket  in  the  printed  list  of  presents,  while 
his  own,  being  uncharacterized,  is  open  to  the  dreadful 
suspicion  of  being — what  it  is — a  sham?  We  believe 
that  the  world  has  never  seen  a  hospitality  more  ge 
nial,  more  hearty,  or  even  more  appropriately  express 
ed,  than  that  which  was  dispensed,  primarily  to  their 
friends,  but  practically  to  all  comers,  in  the  spacious 
and  plenteous  farm-houses  of  those  valiant,  tender,  man 
ly,  and  many-sided  men  who  are  known  to  us  mainly 
as  stern  and  somewhat  forbidding  ancestors. 

But  I  have  got  on  only  so  far  in  my  dutiful  prepara 
tions  for  Thanksgiving  as  to  cut  from  the  newspaper  a, 
rule  for  making  mince-pies.  There  I  obey  Mr.  Sum- 
ner's  injunction  to  Mr.  Stanton,  and  "stick."  When 
you  read  the  rule,  you  find  so  much  beef  suet,  and  chop 
ped  stuff,  and  grated  things,  and  commingling  and  con 
fusion,  that  you  lose  heart  at  the  outset.  For  Cinder 
Ella  knows  naught  of  mince-pics;  and  the  only  advan 
tage  I  have  over  her  is  that  I  know  one  when  I  see  it. 
I  have  but  to  sigh,  "Mince-pie!"  and  rny  angel  will 
move  heaven  and  earth  ;  but  she  will  bring  about  some 
wonderful  combination  of  fire  and  flour — monstrum  hor- 
rendum  malformum — which  she  will  set  on  the  table 
triumphantly,  and  will  never  suspect  that  it  is  not  a 
mince-pie  of  the  most  straitest  sect.  I  shall  know  that 
it  is  incomestibility  and  indigestibility  raised  to  the 
fourth  power;  but  I  shall  not  know  what  makes  it  so. 

No.  If  mince-pies  are  indispensable  to  Thanksgiv 
ing,  I  must  go  into  the  kitchen  myself.  I  must  study 
up  the  whole  subject.  I  must  buy  the  goods,  and  su- 


TWELVE  MILES  F30X  A  LEMON. 

pervise  all  their  boilings  and  weighings  and  flavorings 
— which  things  I  hate.  And  after  all  my  trouble  I 
shall  have  on  my  hands  a  vast  array  of  viands,  which 
•will  be  to  me  for  a  temptation  and  a  torment;  for  van 
ity  and  vexation  of  spirit  and  body. 

Is  there  no  way  by  which  I  can  serve  two  masters? 
Can  I  not  honor  a.  godly  ancestry  without  ravaging  my 
own  domestic  peace  and  personal  comfort?  To  meet 
the  duties  of  filial  piety,  must  I  sacrifice  myself  on  the 
altar  of  mince-piety?  If  I  could  buy  half  a  dozen 
mince-pies  just  to  celebrate  with!  I  shall  have  friends 
enough  at  my  board  that  day  to  share  the  primal  curse, 
and  we  could  divide  and  conquer.  But  a  bake-house 
pie! 

"Oli,  whr  are  bakers  made  so  coarse, 

Or  palates  made  so  fine  ? 
On  pies  that  might  appall  a  horse 
Shall  man  be  made  to  dine?" 

COWPEB  (with  variations). 

Why,  when  the  principle  of  co-operation  is  fairly  dis 
covered,  are  we  so  slow  of  heart  to  make  the  most  of 
it?  It  is  cheaper  to  hire  the  factory  to  weave  your  cal 
ico  than  it  is  to  weave  it  yourself.  But,  also,  the  fac 
tory  calico  is  finer  and  smoother  than  your  home-made. 
It  must  be  cheaper  to  hire  the  factory  to  make  your 
mince-pies  than  to  make  them  yourself.  But,  alas!  the 
factory  will  not  make  good  pies.  The  crust  is  sour  and 
heavy  and  hateful;  the  body  of  the  pie  is  tough  and 
dry  and  stringy  and  lumpy.  A  miserable  pretense,  an 
exasperating  hypocrisy,  is  the  average  bought  pie,  the 
restaurant  pic — 


DINNERS.  315 

"Which  none  can  love,  which  none  can  thank, 
Creation's  blot — creation's  blank." 

So  is  the  "  baker's  loaf,"  a  light,  dry,  sour  shaving,  good 
for  nothing  but  to  be  cast  out  and  trodden  under  foot 
of  men.  If  there  were  no  such  thing  as  a  pie  or  a  loaf 
to  be  bought,  one  would  take  courage  and  exhort  to 
combined  action ;  but  every  day  or  so  the  bakers'  carts 
go  jingling  by  to  tell  us  that  the  principle  of  co-opera 
tion  is  adopted  only  to  be  abused. 

"Pancakes  and  fritters, 
Say  the  bells  of  St.  Peter's ; 
Fools  and  wiseacres, 
Say  the  bells  of  the  bakers." 

How  gladly  in  the  country  would  we  buy  all  our 
bread,  at  least  through  the  summer  months!  and  the 
bread  peddlers  make  it  as  feasible  as  the  city  shop — 
make  it  even  more  convenient,  for  they  come  to  our 
very  doors;  but  the  bravely  labeled  carts  bring  only 
mockery  and  an  inflated  chip;  so  we  build  our  fires 
and  heat  our  houses,  with  the  thermometer  already  ra 
ging  up  into  the  nineties,  for  bread  we  must  have,  and 
not  a  stone,  even  with  its  specific  gravity  left  out  And 
so,  instead  of  a  good  genius  sending  us  sweet,  light, 
wholesome  pies  to  our  own  great  relief  and  its  reason 
able  profit,  an  ogre  will  .continue  to  concoct  malevolent 
abominations,  and  we  must  turn  every  peaceful  home 
into  a  toiling,  moiling  pie-factory  on  a  small,  and  there 
fore  on  an  extravagant  scale. 

And  yet  there  is  a  ray  of  light.  I  do  not  hope  whol 
ly  to  reconstruct  the  nation,  but  might  I  not  insert. my 
small  wedge  into  the  log?  All  my  neighbors  will  be 


316  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMOX. 

making  delicious  pies.  Suppose  I  engage  one  of  them 
to  make  me  a  certain  number.  They  will  be  home 
made  pies,  and  yet  they  will  be  bought  pies.  When 
Solomon! a  is  making  her  own  batch,  she  will  hardly 
feel  the  exertion  or  the  cost  of  half  a  dozen  more.  I 
will  offer  her  baker's  price,  or  her  own  if  she  prefer  it, 
and  possibly  I  may  inoculate  her  with  a  love  of  trade, 
and  she  will  be  permanent  pie-maker  to  my  majesty. 
To  be  sure,  I  shall  be  the  town-talk  for  incapacity  and 
unthrift;  but  think  of  the  "  week  before  Thanksgiving'' 
free  from  suet  and  the  sound  of  the  chopping-knife 
and  the  dread  ordeal  of  raisin-stoning!  Come  ridicule, 
scorn,  contumely !  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  neigh 
bor! 

Ah!  but  my  neighbor  comes  to  me!  and 

"Now  gentle  gales 

Fanning  their  odoriferous  wings  dispense 
Native  perfumes," 

and  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  basket — Arabia 
and  the  creamy  iatness  of  New  England  harvests, 
and  the  Yule-tide  cheer  of  mcrrie  England,  and  the 
fruits  find  spices  of  the  Golden  Year.  Oh,  absti 
nence!  where  arc  the  charms  that  sages  have  seen  in 
thy  face  ? 

Peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men!  It  is  the  senti 
ment  that  underlies  all  feasting,  whether  we  name  it  the 
Thanksgiving  of  the  sons  or  the  Christmas  of  the  fa 
thers,  whether  we  celebrate  it  with  song  and  dance  or 
psalm  and  prayer. 

With  wars  many,  and  disasters  many,  with  battle, 
and  murder,  and  sudden  death,  we  are  often  and  again 


317 

tempted  to  think  that  there  is  no  peace  on  earth,  and 
that  the  heavens  bear  an  ill-will  to  men.  Our  holidays 
are  clouded  with  the  smoke  of  a  burning  city,  of  vil 
lages  laid  waste,  of  a  land  desolate  and  death-smitten. 
Peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men,  with  hundreds  of 
families  swept  out  upon  a  winter  prairie,  homeless  by 
night,  homeless  through  bitter  months?  Good-will  to 
the  aged  and  the  sick,  to  women  and  little  children 
rushing  through  burning  woods  from  a  devouring  flame? 
Good-will  to  friends  forever  separated  and  desolate,  to 
little  ones  suddenly  orphaned,  and  mothers  bereaved, 
and  men  robbed  in  a  moment  of  the  fruits  of  lifelong 
love  and  toil?  Peace  on  an  earth  plundered  of  beauty 
and  dignity,  and  doomed  to  ashes  and  ruin  ?  Yes,  peace 
on  earth,  good-will  to  men,  in  spite  of  fire  and  flood. 
Nay,  the  little  one  has  not  forgotten  the  thrill  of  that 
wonderful  hour  when  the  sorrow  of  Chicago  came  pul 
sating  over  the  land.  One  moment  of  stunned  and 
speechless  shock,  and  then  the  world  moved.  From 
the  scattered  hamlet  under  the  bill,  from  the  teeming 
cities  beyond  the  sea,  rang  one  voice  of  sympathy  and 
succor.  The  ruin  of  Chicago  was  great,  but  of  all  the 
flames  fed  on,  nothing  was  so  priceless  as  that  which 
rose  up  out  of  the  flame — the  stately,  stainless  flower  of 
human  sympathy,  of  universal  brotherhood. 

But  "ah  !"  sighs  Fastidia,  born  under  the  shadow  of 
Boston  State-house,  and  with  the  intensest  pride  of  Bos 
ton  quickening  all  her  bright  blood,  while  she  berates  it 
with  a  lover's  fond  abuse.  "  It  is  all  very  well  for  a  dap 
per  little  city,  pert  and  upstart  like  Chicago,  to  be  burn 
ed;  but  staid  old  Boston!"  And  indeed  it  does  seem 


318  TWELVE  MILES  FROM  A  LEMON. 

an,  unparalleled  audacity.  That  the  flame  sbould  lick 
along  the  streets  of  the  Hancocks,  and  the  Otises,  and 
the  Thajers,  and  the  Appletons  as  greedily  as  if  they 
were  but  vulgar  paths,  this  indeed  may  well  spread  dis 
may.  But  if  staid  Boston  will  discard  ancestral  sense, 
and  rear  its  roofs  of  pine  and  paper,  the  destroying  an 
gel  will  not  stay  his  hand  for  the  storied  names  of  yes 
terday,  nor  even  for  the  solid  men  of  to-day.  Yet  to 
all  the  living,  peace  and  good-will !  Christmas  has  to 
nil  one  song,  if  our  ears  can  only  be  attuned  to  the  sing 
ing.  Better  than  granite  piles — especially  with  .tarred 
roofs  above  them — is  the  energy  that  built  them,  the 
spirit  that  survives  them.  On.  Saturday  a  man  was 
rich,  and  increased  in  goods,  and  had  need  of  nothing — 
enriched  by  his  own  sagacity  and  industry.  On  Sun 
day  the  fire  has  swept  him  back  to  the  starting-point  of 
his  youth.  "  Will  you  shake  hands  with  a  poor  man  ?" 
is  his  undaunted  greeting.  On  Monday  he  is  off  to  be 
gin  life  anew. 

''All  night  long  the  noise  of  battle  rolled" — the  bat 
tle  between  human  power  and  elemental  force.  All 
the  long,  bright  autumn  Sunday,  the  sweet,  serene  In 
dian  summer  day,  the  smoke  of  that  fierce  fight  rose  and 
rolled,  column  upon  column,  stretching  across  the  wide, 
level  horizon,  heaping  up  beauty  for  the  brilliant  sun 
set;  through  the  plains  below  us  the  telegraph  wires 
were  flashing  tidings,  calls,  responses,  orders,  and  over 
the  long  lines  of  railroads  from  all  quarters  dashed  the 
laden  trains,  bearing  eager  crowds.  "Poor  old  Bos 
ton  !"  "Dear  old  Boston!"  we  sighed  with  heavy  hearts, 
forgetting  all  her  pride,  and  remembering  only  her 


319 

peril ;  yet  most  pathetic  of  all,  unspeakably  touching 
and  tearful,  was  the  far,  faint  sound  of  Boston  bells  call 
ing  through  the  second  midnight  for  help  in  her  deadly 
need.  And  how  nobly  help  came!  From  North  and 
South,  from  near  and  far,  men  rushed  to  the  rescue,  nor 
were  there  wanting  those  who  dared  to  die.  Shall  we 
fail  in  holiday  greetings?  Shall  we  distrust  peace  on 
earth  ?  Shall  we  doubt  the  coming  of  new  and  golden 
years  while  thus,  even  now,  their  feet  are  beautiful  upon 
the  mountains? 

The  best  things  of  this  world  are  imperishable.  En 
ergy,  resolution,  courage,  a  dauntless  persistence — fire 
can  not  destroy  them.  Gentleness,  unselfishness,  ten 
derness,  magnanimity — floods  can  not  overwhelm  them. 
In  order  to  have  happy  festivals,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
transact  affairs  in  a  five-story  warehouse  with  marble 
facings.  He  alone  holds  a  happiness  worth  the  having 
who  holds  the  trust  of  those  who  live  with  him.  Whose 
click  at  the  gate  is  music,  whose  voice  at  the  door  is 
solace,  whose  face  at  the  fireside  is  rest,  whose  presence 
everywhere  is  sunshine  —  he  it  is  to  whom  Christmas 
is  truly  the  Christ-day,  whose  year  is  ever  happy  and 
ever  new.  To  you — for  it  is  you  I  mean,  oh  gentle  and 
friendly  reader,  I  proffer  heart-felt  salutations.  As  sim 
ple,  as  noble,  you  do  not  suspect  what  strength  goes  in 
the  clasp  of  your  hand,  what  force,  and  sustenance,  and 
good  cheer  are  voiced  in  -your  welcoming  words !  It  is 
you  who  make  life  sweet  and  wholesome.  It  is  you 
who  soften  the  rigors  of  its  inevitable  frosts,  -who  tem 
per  its  raging  heats,  and  moisten  its  parched  noondays 
with  the  dew-drops  of  the  morning.  To  you,  thought- 


320  TWELVE  MILES  FMOM  A  LEMON. 

ful  and  grateful  husband,  wise  and  sustaining  wife, 
pleasant  and  steadfast  friend,  upright  and  honorable  in 
all  things,  in  love  and  life  alike  tried  and  sure,  to  you 
I  give  glad  greetings  of  the  sacred  and  merry  Christ 
mas,  and  the  fruitful,  fair  New  Year. 


THE  END. 


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PRIME'S  I  GO  A-FISHING.   I  Go  a-Fishing.    By  W.  C.  PHIME.   Crown  Svo, 

Cloth,  $2  50. 
HALLOCK'S  FISHING  TOURIST.    The  Fishing  Tourist:  Angler's  Guide 

and  Reference   Book.    By  CHARLES  UAI.LOCK.    Illustrations.    Crown 

Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 
SCOTT'S  AMERICAN  FISHING.    Fishing  in  American  Waters.    By  Gs- 

NIO  C.  SCOTT.    With  170  Illustrations.    Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 


2      "    Harper  &»  Brothers'  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works. 

ANNUAL  RECORD  OP  SCIENCE  AND  INDUSTRY  FOR  1S72.  Edited 
by  Prof.  SPENCER  F.  BAIUD,  of  the  Smithsouiau  Institution,  with  the  As 
sistance  of  Eminent  Men  of  Science.  12mo,  over  700  pp.,  Cloth,  $2  00. 
(Uniform  with  the  Annual  liecvrd  of  Science  and  Industry  for  1SII. 
12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00.) 

COL.  FORNEY'S  ANECDOTES  OF  PUBLIC  MEN.  Anecdotes  of  Public 
Men.  By  JOUN  W.  FORNEY.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

MISS  BEECHER'S  HOUSEKEEPER  AND  HEALTHKEEPER :  Contain 
ing  Five  Hundred  Recipes  for  Economical  and  Healthful  Cooking;  also, 
many  Directions  for  securing  Health  anil  Happiness.  Approved  by  Phy 
sicians  of  all  Classes.  Illustrations.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

FARM  BALLADS.  By  WILT,  CARLETON.  Handsomely  Illustrated.  Square 
8vo,  Ornamental  Cloth,  $2  00 ;  Gilt  Edges,  $2  50. 

POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.  The  Poets  <  f  the  Nine 
teenth  Century.  Selected  and  Edited  by  the  Rev.  ROBKUT  Ar.is  Wn.i.- 
MOTT.  With  English  and  American  Additions,  arranged  by  EVERT  A. 
DCYOKINCK,  Editor  of  "  Cyclopaedia  of  American  Literature."  Compris 
ing  Selections  from  the  Greatest  Authors  of  the  Age.  Superbly  Illus 
trated  with  141  Engravings  from  Designs  by  the  most  Eminent  Artists. 
In  elegant  small  4to  form,  printed  on  Superfine  Tinted  Paper,  richly 
bound  in  extra  Cloth,  Beveled,  Gilt  Edges,  $5  00;  Half  Calf,  $5  50;  Full 
Turkey  Morocco,  $9  00. 

THE  REVISION  OF  THE  ENGLISH  VERSION  OF  THE  NEW  TESTA 
MENT.  With  an  Introduction  by  the  Rev.  P.  SOIIAFF,  D.D.  CIS  pp., 
Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

This  work  embraces  in  one  volume: 

I.  ON  A  FRESH  REVISION  OF  THE  ENGLISH  NEW  TESTA 
MENT.  By  J.  B.  LIGIITKOOT,  D.D.,  Canou  of  St.  Paul's,  and  Hut- 
sean  Professor  of  Divinity,  Cambridge.  Second  Edition,  Revised. 
196  pp. 

II.  ON  THE  AUTHORIZED  VERSION  OF  THE  NEW  TESTA 
MENT  in  Connection  with  some  Recent  Proposals  for  its  Revision. 
By  RICHARD  CUENEVIX  TRENCH,  D.D.,  Archbishop  of  Dublin.  194  pp. 
III.  CONSIDERATIONS  ON  THE  REVISION  OF  THE  ENGLISH 
VERSION  OF  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT.  By  C.  J.  EI.MCOTT,  D.D., 
Bishop  of  Gloucester  and  Bristol.  178  pp. 

NORDHOFF'S  CALIFORNIA.  California:  For  Health,  Pleasure,  and  Res 
idence.  A  Book  for  Travelers  and  Settlers.  Illustrated.  Svo,  Paper, 
$2  00  ;  Cloth,  $2  50. 

MOTLEY'S  DUTCH  REPUnLIC.  The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic.  By 
JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.  With  a  Portrait  of  William  of 
Orange.  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $10  50. 

MOTLEY'S  UNITED  NETHERLANDS.  History  of  the  United  Nether 
lands:  from  the  Death  of  William  the  Silent  to  the  Twelve  Years'  Truce 
—1609.  With  a  full  View  of  the  English-Dutch  Struggle  against  Spain, 
and  of  the  Origin  and  Destruction  of  the  Spanish  Armadn.  By  JOHN 
LOTUROV  MOTI.EY,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.  Portraits.  4  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $14  00. 

NAPOLEON'S  LIFE  OF  OESAR.  The  History  of  Julius  CaBsar.  By  His 
late  Imperial  Majesty  NAPOLEON  ILL  Two  Volumes  ready.  Library  Edi 
tion,  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50  per  vol. 

HAYDN'S  DICTIONARY  OF  DATES,  relating  to  all  Ages  and  Nations. 
For  Universal  Reference.  Edited  by  BKNJAMINVINOKNT,  Assistant  Secre 
tary  and  Keeper  of  the  Library  of  the  Royal  Institution  of  Great  Britain  ; 
and  Revised  for  the  Use  of  American  Readers.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Sheep, 
$G  00. 

MACGREGOR'S  ROB  ROY  ON  THE  JORDAN.  The  Rob  Roy  on  the 
Jordan,  Nile,  Red  Sea,  and  Genne^areth,  &c.  A  Canoe  Cruise  in  Pales- 
line  and  Egypt,  and  the  Waters  of  Damascus.  By  J.  MAOQHEGOU,  M.A. 
With  Maps  and  Illustrations.  Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 


Harper  &•  Brothers'  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works.          3 

WALLACE'S  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO.  The  Malay  Archipelago:  the 
Land  of  the  Orang-Utan  and  the  Bird  of  Paradise.  A  Narrative  of  Trav 
el,  1854-1302.  With  Studies  of  Man  and  Nature.  By  ALFRED  RITKSKL 
WAI.T.ACE.  With  Ten  Maps  and  Fifty-one  Elegant  Illustrations.  Crown 
8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

WHYMPER'S  ALASKA.  Travel  and  Adventure  in  the  Territory  of  Alas- 
ka,  formerly  Russian  America — now  Ceded  to  the  United  States— and  in 
various  other  parts  of  the  North  Pacific.  By  FREDERICK  WinmrxB 
With  Map  and  Illustrations.  Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

ORTON'S  ANDES  AND  THE  AMAZON.  The  Andes  and  the  Amazon  ;  or, 
Across  the  Continent  of  South  America.  By  JAMES  ORTON,  M.A.,  Pro 
fessor  of  Natural  History  in  Vassar  College,  Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y.,  and 
Corresponding  Member  of  the  Academy  of  Natural  Sciences,  Philadel 
phia.  With  a  New  Map  of  Equatorial  America  and  numerous  Illnstr* 
Mons.  Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

WINCHELL'S  SKETCHES  OF  CREATION.  Sketches  of  Creation:  » 
Popular  View  of  some  of  the  Grand  Conclusions  of  the  Sciences  in  ref' 
ereuce  to  the  History  of  Matter  and  of  Life.  Together  with  a  Statement 
of  the  Intimations  of  Science  respecting  the  Primordial  Condition  and 
the  Ultimate  Destiny  of  the  Earth  and  the  Solar  System.  By  AI.EXAN- 
11  EB  WINOIIELT.,  LL.D.,  Chancellor  of  the  Syracuse  University.  With 
Illustrations.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

WHITE'S  MASSACRE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLOMEW.  The  Massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew :  Preceded  by  n  History  of  the  Religious  Wars  in  the  Reign 
of  Charles  IX.  By  HENUV  WHITE,  M.  A»  With  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth, 
$1  T:>. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  Pictorial  Field-Book 
of  the  Revolution;  or,  Illustrations,  by  Pen  and  Pencil,  of  the  History, 
Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  War  for  Independ 
ence.  By  BENBON  J.  LO&SING.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $14  00;  Sheep, $15  00; 
Half  Calf,  $1S  00;  Full  Turkey  Morocco,  $22  00. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  WAR  OF  1312.  Pictorial  Field-Book 
of  the  War  of  1812;  or,  Illustrations,  by  Pen  and  Pencil,  of  the  History, 
Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  Last  War  for  Ameri 
can  Independence.  By  BKNSON  J.  LOSSINS.  With  several  hundred  En 
gravings  on  Wood,  by  Lossing  and  Barritt,  chiefly  from  Original  Sketch 
es  by  the  Author.  10SS  pages,  Svo,  Cloth,  $7  00;  Sheep,  $350;  Half 
Calf,  $10  00. 

ALFORD'S  GREEK  TESTAMENT.  The  Greek  Testament :  with  a  crit 
ically  revised  Text;  a  Digest  of  Various  Readings;  Marginal  References 
to  Verbal  and  Idiomatic  Usage;  Prolegomena  ;  and  a  Critical  and  Exe- 
getical  Commentary.  For  the  Use  of  Theological  Students  and  Minis 
ters.  By  HKNKY  AI.FOKP,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Canterbury.  Vol.  I.,  contain 
ing  the  Four  Gospels.  944  pages,  Svo,  Cloth,  $G  00 :  Sheep,  $6  50. 

ABBOTT'S  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT.  The  History  of  Frederick  the 
Second,  called  P'rerlerick  the  Great.  By  JOIIN  S.  C.  ABBOTT.  Elegantly- 
Illustrated.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ABBOTT'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  The  French 
Revolution  of  1739,  as  viewed  in  the  Light  of  Republican  Institutions. 
By  JOHX  S.  C.  AHIIOTT.  With  100  Engravings.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  The  History  of  Napoleon  Bona 
parte.  By  JOHN  S.  C.  ABBOTT.  With  Maps,  Woodcuts,  and  Portraits  on 
Steel.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $10  00. 

ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  AT  ST.  HELENA  ;  or,  Interesting  Anecdotes  and 
Remarkable  Conversations  of  the  Emperor  during  the  Five  and  a  Half 
Years  of  his  Captivity.  Collected  from  the  Memorials  of  Las  Casas, 
O'Meara.  Montholon,  Antommarchi.  and  others.  By  JOUN  S.  C.  ABBOTT. 
With  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ADDISON'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Joseph  Addison,  em 
bracing  the  whole  of  the  "  Spectator.'1  Complete  ill  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth, 
$5  00. 


4.          Harper  &  Brothers?  Valaablt  and  Interesting  Works* 

ALCOCK'S  JAPAN.  The  Capital  of  the  Tycoon :  a  Narrative  of  a  Three 
Years'  Kesideucc  in  Japan.  By  Sir  RUTHERFOUD  AI.OOOK,  K.C.B.,  Her 
Majesty's  Envoy  Extraordinary  and  Minister  Plenipotentiary  in  Japan. 
With  Maps  and  Engravings.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  FIRST  SERIES  :  From  the  Commence 
ment  of  the  French  Revolution,  in  1TS9,  to  the  Restoration  of  the  Bour 
bon?,  in  1815.  tin  addition  to  the  Notes  on  Chapter  LXXVL,  which  cor 
rect  the  errors  of  the  original  work  concerning  the  United  State?,  n  copi 
ous  Analytical  Index  has  been  appended  to  this  American  Edition.] 
SECONI>  SKRIF.S:  From  the  Fall  of  Napoleon,  in  1S15,  to  the  Accession  of 
Louis  Napoleon,  iu  1S52.  8  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $10  00. 

EARTH'S  NORTH  AND  CENTRAL  AFRICA.  Travels  and  Discoveries  in 
North  and  Central  Africa:  l>eing  a  Journal  of  an  Expedition  undertaken 
under  the  Auspices  of  H.B.M.'s  Government,  in  tire  Years  1849-1S55.  By 
HENRY  BARTII,  Ph.D.,  D.C.L.  Illustrated.  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $12  00. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER'S  SERMONS.  Sc-nons  by  HENRY  WART> 
BEKCHRR,  Plymouth  Church.  Brooklyn,  Selec.i'.l  from  Published  and 
Unpublished  Discourses,  and  Revised  by  their  Author,  With  Steel  Por 
trait.  Complete  in  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

LYMAN  BEECHER'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY,  &o.  Autobiography,  Corres 
pondence,  &c.,  of  Lyman  Beecher,  D.D.  Edited  by  his  Son,  CIIAKI.ES 
BP.EGUKR.  With  Three  Steel  Portraits,  and  Engravings  on  Wood.  In  2 
vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $5  00, 

BOSWELL'S  JOHNSON.  The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D.  Including 
a  Journey  to  the  Hebrides.  By  JAMES  BOBWELL,  Esq.  A  New  Edition, 
with  numerous  Additions  and  Notes.  By  JOHN  WILSON  CKOKKU,  LL.D., 
F.R.&.  Portrait  of  Boswell.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

DRAPER'S  CIVIL  WAR.  History  of  the  American  Civil  War.  By  JOHN- 
W.  DRAPER,  M.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Chemistry  and  Physiology  in  the 
University  of  New  York.  In  Three  Vols.  Svo,  Cloth,  $3 "50  per  vol. 

DRAPER'S  INTELLECTUAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  EUROPE.  A  Histo 
ry  of  the  Intellectual  Development  of  Europe.  By  JOHN  W.  DHAPKR, 
M.  !>.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Chemistry  and  Physiology  in  the  University 
of  New  York.  8vo,  Cloth.  $5  00. 

DRAPER'S  AMERICAN  CIVIL  POLICY.  Thoughts  on  the  Future  Civil 
Policy  of  America.  By  JOHN  W.  DuArr.n,  M.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of 
Chemistry  and  Physiology  in  the  University  of  New  York.  Crown  Svo, 
Cloth,  $2  50. 

DU  CIIAILLU'S  AFRICA.  Explorations  nud  Adventures  in  Equatorial  Af 
rica,  with  Accounts  of  the  Manners  and  Customs  of  the  People,  and  of 
the  Chase  of  the  Gorilla,  the  Crocodile,  Leopard,  Elephant,  Hippopota 
mus,  and  other  Animals.  By  PAUL  B.  DC  CHAILLU.  Numerous  Illus 
trations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

DU  CHAILLU'S  ASHANGO  LAND.  A  Journey  to  Ashan<ro  Land:  nnd 
Further  Penetration  into  Equatorial  Africa.  "By  PAUL  B.  Du  CIIAILI.U. 
New  Edition.  Handsomely  Illustrated.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 


BELLOWS'S  OLD  WORLD.  The  Old  World  in  its  New  Face :  Impressions 
of  Europe  in  1867-18GS.  By  HENKIC  W.  BELLOWS.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth, 
$350. 

BRODHEAD'S  HISTORY  OF  NEW  YORK.  History  of  the  Stnte  of  New 
York.  By  JOHN  ROMEYN  BUODIIEAD.  1009-1091.  2  vols.  Svo,  Cloth, 
$3  00  per  vol. 

BROUGHAM'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  Life  nnd  Times  of  HENRY,  Loni, 
BROUGHAM.  Written  by  Himself.  In  Three  Volumes.  12mo,  Cloth, 
$2  00  per  vol. 

SULWER'S  PROSE  WORKS.  Miscellaneous  Prose  Works  of  Edward  Bol- 
w;-r,  Lord  Lytton.  2  vols.,  l^rao,  Cloth,  $J  50. 


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